


A Merry Krampus Christmas

by cryingdrama3



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Buzzfeed Unsolved References, Buzzfeed Unsolved Supernatural, Buzzfeed Unsolved True Crime, F/F, F/M, M/M, Shane Being an Asshole, shyan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2019-10-04 20:49:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17311646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryingdrama3/pseuds/cryingdrama3
Summary: The whole family is here while something evil lurks in the shadows.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is a Christmas special for all of the characters from my last Halloween story. Almost all of the versions of these characters are mine. 
> 
> **
> 
> The character of Tyler is from my lovely friend @Red_Sinner on AO3 as well.

The smell of food perfumes the house, the maids have been cooking for a full weekend to make the food perfect. The fact that the smell of the food danced throughout the whole house was fantastic. It even sneaked under the door of Ricky's office, it made his mouth water. 

 

“Do you know what you're going to wear?” 

 

Ricky looked up from the paperwork to see Tinsley, who stood in front of his desk with bed hair and a robe that hugged his thin frame. His glasses balanced on the bridge of his long vulture-like nose. The sight alone was something that made Ricky's heart soften, a different kind of soft. A domestic feel in the situation. “I don't know yet,” he says before continuing his work. “Something nice. I guess.”

 

Tinsley made a soft noise before walking from in front of his desk and stood at his side. “I don't know if I should comment or not.” 

 

He made a sound that sounded like a soft ‘tut’. “Charlie, we've been over this. You're no longer a servant. You don't have to bite your tongue anymore.” 

 

Now it was Tinsley's turn to make a sound, he leaned against the desk with his arm crossed. “I know,” he sigh. “Old habits die hard, I guess.” 

 

This whole scene was a strange one to witness, especially if you know the whole context of the situation. An assassin and a detective in the same room, that had slept in the same bed for almost three years now. The detective had faked his death to be with the assassin with help of the later mentioned. With the grime and the dark things that these two have done just to be together, all of the soft domestic-ness seemed unsettling. 

 

“Alright,” Tinsley says. “I do recommend you wearing that suit of yours.” 

 

Ricky's eyebrows shoot up but still looks at his papers, the fountain pen in his hand not stopping. “I have many, Charlie. Which one?” Then, he stops writing when he feels and sees the taller man's pale hand on his own. He looks up to meet his eyes. 

 

“I think you know which one I'm talking about,” Tinsley says with his eyes sparkling with mischief but softness. 

 

The shorter man's mouth turns into an o-shape, faking shock. Of course he knows what suit he was talking about. It was his nice one that didn't need a tie because his top three buttons were always undone to show off clear skin. “ _Oohhhhhhh_...that one…” he says before letting his pen down and taking Tinsley's hand in his own. “Well, I guess you're going to go back to your old habits and you'll have to dress me, Tin-Man.” 

 

With a blush and a smell peck on his lips, Tinsley laughed with euphoria. That feeling in his stomach that mimicked one of butterflies and a buzzing cloud went to his head. He pulled away with pink cheeks and giddy feeling in him. “I'll go check on Sophia,” he says before giving Ricky a soft peck on his lips and standing up straight. “I'll leave you to your work.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  


The smell of food didn’t actually sneak into her room, she was aware of it but didn’t actually smell. The perfume that came from her room was more powerful than the smell of pork and vegetables that her flowery perfume was a bubble that surrounded her. It was a sweet, sickly sweet. It was a nauseously sweet smell that made Tinsley’s throat tighten before coughing. 

 

He knocked on the door and a after hearing some shuffling from inside the door open. Sophia stood in front of him, blocking his entrance to the room. She smiled softly, calm and relaxed. “Good morning, Tinsley,” she says. 

 

He looked at her and was very surprised that she was awake. It was far too early (not really, it was 7 a.m but she wakes up around 9) and she not only awake but dressed in something that wasn’t her pajamas while Tinsley was there in a robe and slippers. “I thought you were asleep,” he says as he pushed up his glasses with his knuckles. 

 

Sophia’s head tilts to the side, a sweet habit that — if Tinsley was being honest — at first he thought was creepy. “I couldn’t sleep. It’s Christmas Eve tonight so I’m organizing the presents.” 

 

And Tinsley couldn't help but smile at her innocence. She was so pure and nice to everyone she meets. He once saw her apologies to a telephone pole because she bumped into it. At first, when he began to work here as undercover he thought very low of her, thinking that she was just a dumb pet whose only job was to sit next to Goldsworth and look pretty. But he later learned the truth of all of this. 

 

“You seem excited,” Tinsley says. 

 

She nods with a soft smile. “Of course I am. I haven’t seen Scout or Josh in a while.” 

 

“You saw them two weeks ago.” 

 

“I know but that doesn’t mean I can’t be excited,” Sophia shines at him. “I must continue my act of kindness to all my family. Good day, Mr. Tinsley! See you in a few hours.” She closes the door, leaving Tinsley alone in the hallway.

 

***

 

Breakfast wasn’t at McDonald's today which was a large relief to the three them. They were sitting in their actual kitchen table at home. The three of them were able to get home before Christmas Eve. Just barely. By a hair. How close you may ask? Well, they only slept in their respective beds for a few hours. 

 

Shane shoved a forkful of scramble eggs as Ryan sat down while putting a plate stacked of toast on the table. They sat there, eating through the elephant in the room. That was until he took a sip of his coffee and cleared his throat. “Well?” Ryan asks as he glanced over to Shane before both of them stared at her with the hope she might crack. 

 

“Well what?” She never cracks. She, however, does show that she is aware of wearing sunglasses during breakfast by pushing them up when he unmentionably mentioned it. 

 

He raised an eyebrow. “Can we learn just why you’re showing off a John Lennon look while poking at your eggs?” 

 

Scout rolls her eyes, it was visible even though her eyes were completely covered. She put her elbow on the table and her chin in her hand as she poke her eggs even more. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she denies. Then, she sniffles. 

 

Shane then spoke up after a while. “You’re high, aren’t you?” 

 

Ryan chokes on his coffee while Scout dropped her fork in shock, clattering on her plate of almost untouched food. Her face then went completely indescribable. “No, I’m not high,” her voice lacked any emotion. 

 

“You’re wearing sunglasses at breakfast, kid. Yeah, you’re fuckin’ high.” Shane says it in such a tone, similar to one of a lawyer that just defended their client so well that the judge went silent in astonishment. 

 

But the judge wasn’t silent, the judge turned into a lawyer. “No, I’m not. And besides, if I was— which I’m not — it’s perfectly legal.”

 

“Not when you’re underage,” Ryan says. “Take them off.”

 

“No.”

 

“Then you’re high!” 

 

Scout groans before throwing her hand up in defeat. “Okay then, fine. Yeah, I’m high. Sue me.” 

 

“‘Sue me’? Oh no,” Shane says, mimics her posture. “You see, they might throw you back into juvie but they _will_ have us arrested for—“

 

She suddenly stood up, failing to make a scene as her chair didn’t make the loud scraping sound she wanted and she then proceeded to trip on the carpet with a soft “ _Fuck_ ” leaving her mouth before she slammed the door of her room. 

 

They both turned to look at each other, Ryan sighed as Shane rubbed his eyes. “She’s not high, you know. She doesn’t smell like it.”

 

“I know,” he looked down at his coffee before taking a gulp from it. “And you didn’t have to act like an asshole.”

 

Shane looks at him as if he was a 1950s suburban husband reading the newspaper and looked at his wife being passive aggressive. “You know that I just tried to help you. She wasn’t going to admit anything.” 

 

He hummed into his coffee cup. “Tried…” And before Shane could say anything, Ryan stood up and picked up his plate before half-slamming it near the sink. 

 

The taller man turned around and look at him, seeing Ryan open the faucet for the hot water. “Oh so now you’re blaming me for helping but you always said that I don’t.” 

 

Ryan began to scrub his plate harder than he needed to. “I’m not blaming you for anything,” he spoke in a such a tone that showed the opposite. “I am simply saying that you can handle this situation with…”

 

“With what?” he asks, seeing Ryan almost throw the sponge in his hand into the small container of soapy water. 

 

“Maturity,” finished his sentence without a shattered plate. 

 

A shocked look fell on his face. “Maturity…” he repeated it, as if trying to grasp the concept of the word. And instead of feeling offended Shane just let out a laugh, a dry one that showed no actual amusement. “You’ve spoken it like a true perfectionist. An older sibling truly.”

 

Every bone in Ryan’s body slowly burned. A natural reaction to fight or flight, and this time it was fight. Ryan remembered reading about it in high school, that your face turns red and your body heats up to make energy in your body to fight. He took in a big breath of air in. “Just because you can’t handle someone that’s younger than you doesn’t mean that you have to be an asshole about it.”

 

Now Shane was offended. Not enough to actually be furious but enough to feel a little bit hurt. “I can’t deal with someone younger than me because I _worry_ about it. And you know I’m right about the weed thing.”

 

Ryan didn’t respond as the older continued. 

 

“If she’s caught with any illegal substance then they pin it back to us and CPS will chew our asses out.” 

 

“So you’re blaming her now?” He turned around, aware of his stance and his red face as he stared at him. 

 

Shane deflates for just a split moment before he sighs slightly irritated, his fingers drums on the side of the chair. “I am simply saying that we need to be careful. Especially at these time. Her interview is at the end of January.”

 

The “interview” that they speak of is one where she sits in a room with someone from CPS and she’s asked a series of questions about how she’s been and how school is going. That interview determines if she can stay with them or go back into the system. 

 

They sat there, a silence of agreement. 

 

They didn’t drop the subject, they just agreed to speak of it later. The awkward silence turned into a comfortable one as they cleaned up the table. _How_ _domestic_ … the world cooed in a whisper. 

 

Ryan put the plate next to the sink before he opened the faucet once again. “Go apologize to her.” 

 

He jerked his head up so fast that it hurt his neck. “What?”

 

“Say it through the door,” Ryan said as he gathered all the food scraps and poured it into a small plate before throwing it into the compost bin. 

 

Shane’s eyebrows shot up in actual surprise. “I have never heard an adult apologizing to me when I was a kid.” 

 

With a rag he cleaned the table, his past as a waiter sticking to him. “Well the world has changed. Adults can be wrong and kids deserve an apology when they do.” 

 

The older man thought about it for a while. Looking back now he realized that the adults around him were so wrong so often that it actually did harm him that sticked with him into his adult life. “I… suppose you’re right.” 

 

So he did. He walked away from the kitchen and knocked on the door of her room. 

 

“What?” Scout yelled from inside the room, a soft hum of music underlining her. 

 

He stared at his feet. He opened his mouth: “Take a shower. It helps get the high down.” 

 

Two groans were heard. One from inside the room and one from the kitchen. 

 

Parenting is hard. 

  
  
  
  


“Life is hard,” Scout flops on her bed, feeling all her clothes on her back as she hangs her head from the edge of her bed. 

 

From the other side of the phone Tyler says, “Well life sucks for all of us, Scout.” This was probably their third phone call this week. She hasn’t been at home for almost a month, meaning that her winter break started early but that also means that she had to take her midterms early and that her break wasn’t really a _break_. She didn’t sleep in and she didn’t have time to actually call any of her friends. 

 

She covers her eyes with the back of her hand. “I know. I know. I’ve been just stressing because of work and the trips and Christmas at my uncle’s and—“ she stops when she hears something in the background of Tyler’s line. “Why do hear birds? Where you at?” 

 

Another sound came from Tyler’s line, a big clang. “Oh that! I’m at my _abuela’s_. She has birds and I’m feeding them as we’re talking.” 

 

Scout moves from her back to her stomach, head still handing from the bed but also her arm. She reaches down to mess with her carpet. “Doesn’t your _abuela_ have only a landline and no signal?” she questions as she pulls the loose strand from the carpet. 

 

Tyler makes a hum of agreement. “Yeah.” 

 

“Then how—“

 

She was interrupted by the sound of his _abuela_ yelling at him to get off the phone and take out the trash. He hanged up after a goodbye that was followed by a loud smack and a sound of pain that came from Tyler. Ouch! _La_ _Chancla_. 

 

Scout drops her phone on her bed and sighs. She covers her face with both her hands, that’s when she realized that she didn’t take off her sunglasses the whole time. With a groan she took them off and put them on her nightstand. 

 

A knock on the door made her jump a bit but she calmed herself down. “What?” she yelled. She knew who it was, the footsteps she heard before was someone she knew. 

 

There was some lack of words from the other side. A quiet. Not a silence, just a quiet. She waited, she even stood up just to see if he might say something. And then she heard his voice, not the words he speaks and some hope light up inside of her, like the Christmas tree that they couldn’t have.

 

But then she heard what he what he said.

 

“Take a shower. It helps get the high down.” 

 

She waited before having the disappointment wash into her. Again she flopped on her bed, face first. “Fuck,” she yelled into her bed. For some reason, she felt sad. Not like post-period sad but just sad. That type of sadness that comes after a disappointment that just nibbles on your hope and faith in something good. It was that kind of sadness. 

 

Pushing herself from the nest she calls a bed she heads to the bathroom, catching a glimpse of her face in the mirror. She hates that mirror so much but she can’t get rid of it because it’s drilled into the wall. She saw herself and saw the reason why she put those sunglasses on. Her where were rimmed red and bloodshot that were also accompanied by bags under her eyes so big that you could stuff trash into them and throw it into the street. 

 

The red wasn’t because of whatever in weed makes you high. It was because of the lack of sleep and the sadness and the pills that made her more sensitive but numb at the same time. Honestly she didn’t blame them if they thought that she was high, the blood shot eyes were basically what you need to confirm if she was high. But no pupils were dilated so that would be something to throw people off. 

 

She wasn’t high, she was just sad. 

 

***

 

“You did what?!” 

 

Legs sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation. It was quite frustrating to deal with your best friend when he was stubborn as fuck. “You can’t just waltz around the invitation that he sent you. He wants to see you.” 

 

Night continued to pace around, the worn down bottom of his shoes making small clicks on the wooden floor. He was pacing around like a fucking lawyer that was nervous but also furious at his client. 

 

“He does not,” Night was just one stomping his foot to sound like a child throwing a tantrum. “He probably didn’t even send it!” He continued pacing. 

 

Legs let out a sound of frustration before crossing his long… well, legs into a four shape. He sat back on his chair, he sat like he owned the place. He did, of course. After that whole ‘running away from the mob’, they opened a small bar in the center of Los Angeles and they made it big. Well not big enough to be spotted but enough to be a B-List party guest. 

 

He took a sip of his drink before looking up at his small jittery friend. “Too late though. I already sent the acceptance of the invitation.” Legs was surprised to see his friend standing in front of him. 

 

The look of betrayal on Night’s face was something quite comical at the moment, usually it would be a face that would pull on Legs’ heartstrings but when considering the situation, Legs smiles. “I can’t believe you’re getting offended because _he_ _invited_ _you_ to a Christmas party.” He took another sip of his brandy whilst smiling. 

 

Night’s frown grew even more at his friend’s condescending tone. He was basically mocking him! “I’m more offended because _you_ _sent_ _him_ a _reply_!“ He continues to pace around before stopping in front of Legs again before snatching the glass cup and proceeding to take the last few sips of the brandy. 

 

The tall man stared at him with a raised eyebrow of surprise. “Do you not want to go, Night?” 

 

He shook his head. 

 

Legs’ eyes grew fixated on his best friend’s face. Night looks like a college student under the stress of finals with a look on his face that might as well be permanent because of how define it was on his face. That frown of his face might have add more another few pounds on Night’s whole body. It was quite comical, yes, he isn’t going to deny the fact that this was very entertaining but he wasn’t going to dismiss his friend’s emotions because he didn’t understand them. Those emotions are as valid as his own. 

 

“Tell me, why is that?” He scoffs at himself mentally. Wow, an ex-sniper listening to other people’s problems like a therapist. What has he become? “I thought you and him were in good terms.” 

 

The shortest scoffed. “Please! We’re not in good terms; we just acknowledge each other. All we do is just confirm that we’re not going to kill each other for the year and then we just move on with our lives.” Night tossed the glass cup at Legs before he continued to pace around with his hands on his hips. 

 

With his patience slowly fading, Legs sighs before standing up to put the cup on the tray where it was before. He poured whiskey in the cup this time. “Nick, if you’re not aware, your brother does care about you. Honestly, you just have your head up your ass too much to notice it. If he invited you it was for a reason.” Legs hands him the whiskey before sitting back down in his chair, arms on each armrest and with his legs crossed. He looked like the mob boss he always wanted to be. 

 

Night stopped, he looked down at his whiskey. Maybe Legs is right. Maybe Ricky does care about him. It is a possibility. I mean, the man _is_ an assassin but he still has a daughter and a little boy toy to care for. It isn’t as rare as Nick thought that maybe his brother does care. 

 

He looks down at the whiskey in his cup before finishing it in just one sweep he swallowed it down. “Fine,” Night says while making a face. “We’ll go. But if we try to kill each other don’t you dare hold me back, Legs.” 

 

The taller man just sighs while pinching the bridge of his nose. Great, this is going to be a great Christmas party. 

 

***

 

Banjo’s heart jumped when Josh handed him the invitation. Of course he knew what it was, he’s seen that invitation for the past five years of his life and it still doesn’t miss to make his heart beat a little bit faster and his face turn bright pink. 

 

The beige card in his hand was still the same color as it was for many years before today. Every year, without a beat, the invitations always look the same. The same signature, the same words, the same paper, the same color, the same ink of the pen, the same _smell_. Ricky has always put one pump of his cologne on the invitations.

 

And Banjo has always said to myself that it was just for him. That Ricky has always sprayed his cologne on Banjo’s specific invitation and sent it to him with the idea to charm him. He sent all those invitations with cologne the same way a girlfriend would send her handkerchief with perfume to her boyfriend that’s overseas. Such a romantic WW2 gesture that will never happen to him. 

 

Banjo has been lying to himself for the past five years. Lying to himself that all that Ricky has done were just subtext to tell him that he wants him. That one that that Ricky would just appear at his office and tell him that he loves him so much. 

 

Those were just lies. 

 

He’s a liar. A even worse liar for just lying to himself. 

 

“So I’m going, right?” Josh brought him back to reality. Something quite unfortunate to be brought back to his bleak life. 

 

Banjo nods, not looking up from the invitation. The smell of the cologne made his insides turn into molten lava. Oh God how does he yearn to taste Ricky on his tongue. He would do almost about anything just for a kiss. A peck. Anything. 

 

Josh moves his foot under the carpet he was supposed to vacuum. “Should I wear anything or something nice? Or maybe I shouldn’t go—“ 

 

“Josh,” the art thief stopped his apprentice. “It’s just us. Nothing big. Just a dinner and a party. That’s it. So don’t you worry.” McClinkton put his hand on Josh’s shoulder to squeeze it as comfort. “And I know that you would have spent Christmas at Julie’s but—“ 

 

He shrugged, “Yeah. She’s kinda in Peru so…” Josh didn’t bother finish the sentence. 

 

A sweet moment between mentor and student. Something soft. Like a father coaching his son before a baseball game. Of course McClinkton wouldn’t know, Dad was always out of the picture. Let’s just say that being a thief was in the blood. That was something that Josh could relate as he thinks of what to wear. 

 

“So what are you going to wear to see your little boyfriend?” teased the teenager with an all-knowing smile. 

 

Blood went to McClinkton’s ears hence turning his already-pink face an even darker shade. He cleared his throat before putting the invitation on his desk. “What I’m going to wear is none of your concern, Joshua,” he sits in his chair. “Please get back to work.” 

 

Joshua salutes. “Sir, yes, sir!” He leaves hastily through the door and when it closed McClinkton sighs. 

 

He looks down at the invitation, knowing damn well that this doesn’t mean anything. All it was just an invitation for a party that Ricky also invited other people to. But God, how can him brain make a fantasy that whispers him all his desires. Lust heavy in his mouth and want making his skin burn like a match. 

 

Fire. That’s how he would describe Ricky. He’s the fires of hell that lick his feet, he’s the devil on his shoulder that haunts his days like the ghost of war. The smoke that fills his lungs intoxicate him better than any heroin induced daydream. The danger that Ricky bleeds, sweats, cries and even just stares with those eyes. Oh those eyes are all you need to have to just show the danger that’s inside of you. 

 

Banjo puts the invitation on his chest, the smell of it set him on fire. And he’s even proud of his lust. But he was never like this. He had the word of God forced into his mouth and the rosary tied around his wrist as he was pushed into a church to cover up his sins of lust towards a boyfriend he had. And it did work, for a while. But that also resulted with repressed feelings and a lot of denial which lead to drug use. 

 

_Pathetic_ , something leaned into his ear and whispered. A dark figure that he has grown familiar with. A stranger with a face he knows. The dark sides of his mind in human form, with eyes that he wants to sink into and a sharp smile that he feels burning into his skin. 

 

Cologne filled his nose again as he closed his eyes and played out a fantasy that he knows so well. A fantasy that he has every night as he falls asleep. He sets the scene:

 

The dark figure’s face slowly grows sharp little eyes and miles of olive skin and a sharp smile. Ricky Goldsworth stands next him. Ricky’s hands goes to his shoulders, hands clamping down as he leans in, pressing his chest on Banjo’s back. “ _You_ _know_ I _love_ _you_ , _right_ , _Banjo_?” He slides his hands off of his shoulders before pressing against him completely, teasing. Ricky’s hands fall, dangling close to Banjo’s shirt buttons. His fingers briefly being caught on those buttons, Banjo’s heart jumped. 

 

Fake Ricky’s smiled against the side of his neck, breathe raising the hairs on Banjo’s body like a shiver in a cold breeze. “ _I_ always _have_ _and_ _will_ _always_ _love_ _you_ ,” he whispers in his ears. Ricky’s hands trail down his arms and into his lap before moving away and sitting on his desk right in front of him. This looked like the beginning of a bad porno movie. His legs were slightly parted and that was were Banjo was just sitting in between his legs, staring at him. 

 

“ _What_ _do_ _you_ _want_ , _Benny_? _Hmmm_?” he teases with a large smile plastered on his face. “ _What_ _do_ _you_ _want_ _more_ _in_ _this_ _life_?” All Ricky needs is some champagne in his hand to finish the fantasy. Ricky leans in, slowly with that same smile. Mischief in his eyes that would make anyone feel high. 

 

With his mouth only a few centimeters away, he answers: “You.” 

 

There was a knock on the door and Banjo fell back into his seat. Fantasy Ricky vanished like smoke in the air while Banjo flopped back in his seat like a idiot. A voice came from behind the door. “Yo, boss!” Josh. Of course. 

 

He cleared his throat, feeling as if he just committed the worst sin in existence. He wiped his hands on trousers. “Come in,” he said. 

 

The door opened to reveal Josh, looking like himself but with a much larger coat and his curls pushed back by what Banjo assumes is a whole bottle of hair gel. “So?” Josh raises his arms and did a half spin. “How do I look?”  

 

McClinkton raised an eyebrow. “Josh, you look like a cheap pimp.” 

 

“Come on!” He dropped his arms to his sides. “I tried to look nice. I mean, we’re going to Goldsworth’s place. The guy probably wipes his nose with hundred dolla’ bills.” 

 

“I highly doubt that,” McClinkton says as he hands up and rolls his sleeves down as he walks towards the closet in the corner of his office. “Just be yourself. Scout and Sophia are going to be there so you’re not going to exactly lonely in a group of adults.” 

 

The teenager sighs and shoved his hands into his jacket. “I know. It’s just that…” he sighs again.

 

“ _Oh_ , _there’s_ _teen_ _angst_ _in_ _that_ _unfinished_ _sentence_ _of_ _his_ ,” Fantasy Ricky says from where he sat at the corner of the table. He was wearing McClinkton’s favorite suit that Ricky has ever worn but the buttons were undone and his hair was a mess.

 

McClinkton ignores him as he reaches up to the top of the shelf. He pulls down a couple of boxes from there and carries them to his desk. “What?” 

 

“I’m afraid that I might embarrass you,” he confesses. Josh rocks back on his feet, his Nike’s shoelaces were undone and one of his curls fell on his forehead. 

 

Fantasy Ricky stands up and walks next to Josh. ” _Oh_ - _ho_! _Well_ _would_ _you_ _look_ _at_ _that_! _He_ _cares_ _about_ _you_! _Can_ _I_ _ask_ _you_ _why_? _I_ _mean_ , _I_ _always_ _thought_ _that_ _he_ _was_ _going_ _to_ _betray_ _you_. _Steal_ _some_ _money_ , _hire_ _a_ _hitman_ , _get_ _rid_ _of_ _the_ _body_. _But_ _here_ _we_ _are_! _You_ _got_ _him_ a—“

 

“... gift?” Josh asked. Banjo had handed him a box, wrapped in decorative paper and a tacky bow on top. 

 

McClinkton nodded as he walked past the stunned teenager and through his fantasy version of Ricky, the one that he lust for and not the one that he loves. He sat on his desk with his hands in his pockets. “Open it,” he says. 

 

Josh put the box next to him and peeled the wrapping paper to reveal a box. He pulled the lid off for it to reveal—

 

“Shoes?” he asks as he pulls the tennis shoe out. They were nice. Nike’s, black, red and white with the classic logo on the side. 

 

McClinkton smiled, an all-knowing smile that was surprisingly comforting. One of a mentor that will pass down their wisdom to their apprentice. “Look inside of it,” he says, shaking with excitement. 

 

The teenager did so and pulled out something small, made out of hard plastic with two pins in the back of it. It was a name tag. 

 

“‘Manager Gonzalez…’” Josh began but Banjo finished for him—

 

“My second in command.” 

 

Josh then smiled the largest smile that McClinkton has ever seen on his face, one so big that he was scared that it might rip in half. “Oh my God! Thank you, thank you and thank you!” He then tackled the art thief into a hug and squeeze tighter than either of the two has ever experienced. 

 

Banjo’s arms raised up, like when a criminal is asked by the police to put their hands behind their head. He even squirms a bit. He hasn’t been by someone in so long that it even feels weird. There was warmth going up his neck to his face, similar to when Ricky smiles at him. 

 

Josh pulled away with that same gigantic smile as when he responded to being handed the role of management in the store. The store was a fake of course, a way to cover up the large amounts of money that comes in from all the paintings. “I won’t let you down, Mr. McClinkton. I swear I won’t.” 

 

Then he ran out the room, clutching onto the shoebox and the name tag in his arms/hands, he almost tripped on his undone shoelaces. 

 

Banjo chuckled as he heard the door close. It was quite refreshing to see him smile, well, Josh always smiles. He’s the ray of sunshine around the place. But it feels nice to be… nice. To him. 

 

“ _Well_ _now_ _you_ _know_ _how_ _it_ _feels_ _like_ _to_ _be_ _a_ _real_ _daddy_ ,” Fantasy Ricky says as he appears next to him and so did the pink on McClinkton’s ears. 

 

That heat then went down his neck and to his chest, his stomach and then his— Banjo rolled his eyes. 

 

Not-Ricky flashes him a cheeky smile as he stands up and stands in front of McClinkton. “ _You_ _know_ ,  _we_ _could_ _just_ _stay_ _in_. _Not_ _go_ _to_ _the_ _party_ , _have_ _a_ _good_ _time_ _on_ _our_ _own_.” He put his hand on Banjo’s shoulder as he leaned in close, almost teasing him with their unfinished kiss. “ _What_ _do_ _you_ _say_?”

 

The art thief felt his hands move unwillingly to grab his wrist, being aware of his fantasy version of the man he’s in love with hand went to his belt. He stopped him, fingers wrapped around Fake Ricky’s wrist far too easily. Usually, he wouldn’t even hesitate to agree but something in himself said that this was… pathetic. 

 

This version of Ricky is one straight out of teenage Banjo’s wet dreams; but it wasn’t real. This wasn’t the version he wants. 

 

And, he wants to go to that Christmas party. After all, everyone is going to be there. 


	2. On The First Day Of Christmas...

_ She was beautiful. She knew this, it was implanted on her skin with all the makeup. And she was so happy, her skin shone with pride and confidence that she couldn’t even imagine having. She was young, she wasn’t going hungry anymore, she had clothes on her back and a reasonable amount of money in her wallet. She was safe, she was okay.  _

 

_ A pair of hands hold of her shoulders and in the mirror she saw the Woman. The Woman was far more beautiful than her, she knew that she will always be more beautiful than her. The Woman smiles at the mirror and at her.  _

 

_ “I feel safe,” she admits, her tongue formed those words without her permission. “With you.” _

 

_ The Woman smiles softly at her, showing off her perfect teeth. “Well I won’t be going anywhere, darling!”  _

 

_ Then red lines appeared across her face, morphing her once accepted face. A shaky smile appeared on her lips, one of fighting against an invisible force that smile. Tears welling in her eyes before spilling completely, black tears from the marcara rolling down her face. Dirty, she felt.  _

 

_ Everything glitches around her, like a television. Flashes of neon colors that hurt her eyes but she can’t look away. Pain gathered in her eyes, then a burning that became just so unbearable. Black tears slowly turned into red ones.  _

 

_ The Woman’s hands wrapped around her neck in a firm grip that she couldn’t get away from.  _ **_“You Deserve To Have Someone To Be KIND TO YOU!”_ **

 

_ Those hands fades away and so did the colors. Everything fades into a darkness and she was alone, in a room that was pitch dark and she was the only one visible. Shrinking down into a ball in the corner, blood still running down her face, it was hot. Too hot. She was boiling. She was burning. Melting. Choking. Suffering. Suffocating.  _

 

She gasped for air as she woke up, sweat making her smell sour. Scout pushes herself up before spitting out blood into her hand. Ugh, she stares in disgust at the red-clear in her hand before wiping it away. 

 

She stands to go to the bathroom and when she turns on the light she sees the source of her suffocation, blood drips down her nose on her shirt and small red splatters on her sink. 

 

Scout rubs her nose and washed away all the blood before putting cold water in her nose to make it stop. These nosebleeds happen too much. Too much that people worry about her. She’s been called to the nurse’s office during school hours just to check on her. People around her worry but she doesn’t care that much about them. I mean, thy do ruin any chance of wearing a white shirt. But she also deals with not wearing something light when on her period. Whatever. 

 

Coughing and spitting out blood was also normal. She probably bit herself in her sleep. Normal. The strange and perplexing for you is the norm for her. Such a strange way to see life when you live her life. 

 

Covered in blood and sweat was something that will push her into the shower. 

 

***

 

Josh picked up the phone and stared at the number dial. He pressed the numbers in the order he knew by heart, his fingertips have memorized that number so much that it might fused with his fingerprints. He picked it up to his ear and he waited, hearing it buzz. 

 

After a while of waiting he just put the pay phone back to its place before sitting on the ground next to it with his knees under his chin and his hands falling to play with the pebbles on the concrete. He was outside of the jail, waiting for his watch to strike five p.m. Twenty minutes to go. 

 

Anxiety made his face sour and shove his hands into his pockets harshly when he realized that he forgot to peel his nail polish away. Shit, he might get jumped for that. He swallowed dry. Damn it, he should have washed his mouth before coming over here and he doesn’t have a piece of gum. Is there a store nearby? 

 

He raises his arm and smells under it, he doesn’t stink. Thank god. Josh shoves his fingers in his mouth, which was a bad idea because he just touched a public pay phone but it doesn’t matter. He was chewing his nails and trying to peel away the pink nail polish that he now regrets even putting on. It was fun though. 

 

Josh looks down at his shoes and smiles. He had put on the pair that Banjo had gifted him on. He was in love with them, they were so nice and felt so right to put on. He even tried to walk without bending his feet to stop the creasing but that just ended up with him looking like a penguin. Putting his foot over his knee, Josh inspected them. There a light scratch on it and he rubbed it away by licking his thumb. 

 

Proud and tired, he flopped back on the dirty ground and stared up at the sky. It was the deepest shade of blue to be possibly considered a light blue, some clouds caresses the sky lightly and looking more like cigarette smoke than actual fluffy clouds. Some birds flew past Josh’s sight. He smiled at the sky, alone but not lonely. This was something out of his childhood memories, when he used to play soccer with the kids at his block, chasing each other with the hose and spraying with water on the hot summer days as they waited for the  _ raspero  _ and the  _ elotero  _ to pass by so they pull out their crumpled up dollars from their jeans with their tiny filthy palms. 

 

The sky was the past and it swallowed him whole. The sky was an abyss that he would happily fade away in, leaving this life he has built to an even simpler life. That’s what he want. He wants the past to be back, the past  when everything was alright, the past when he was having the most fun, the past when was able to smile: the past when he was happy.

 

Josh felt his watch vibrate and beep, he sits up and checks it. It’s time to face the music. And like  _ Beetlejuice  _ said:  _ “It’s showtime!” _

 

Being escorted into a prison is a bizarre experience to anyone who has never been in one. You have to take off your coats and jackets, your shoes, you have to be patten down, they check your stuff before able to pass by. Josh was so used to it that he smiles and makes a small conversation with the guy that pats him down. As he puts his jacket and shoes back on, he wipes the new shoes with his fingers before walking with the guard that then escorts him to the visitation area. 

 

He sits on the uncomfortable chairs and just waits. Josh does feel kinda bad that he didn’t bring a present but he wasn’t allowed due to the charges that--

 

“Ma,” Josh says as he watches his mother in khaki sit across from him. The guard took off her handcuffs and sat her down. He looks just like her, he has her brown hair and her eyebrows. It was a pity that he didn’t get her freckles. 

 

His mother smiled. “Joshua, how are you,  _ mijo. _ ”

 

It was funny that they could have a normal conversation when she’s wearing that jumpsuit. Josh shrugs, “Fine.”

 

The guard stood away from them but still a safe length away just in case something goes down. “Are you still working for that man? What was his name?” 

 

“McClinkton,” Josh finishes for her, his hands on the table. He saw from the corner of his eyes the pink nail polish. He curled his fingers in his palm. “And yeah, I still work for him.” 

 

His mother leans in after eyeing the guard that walks past them. “Isn’t he a thief? Doesn’t he steal for them rich folk?” 

 

All of the moisture evaporated from his throat. “Yeah,” he almost throws up. “But he…” 

 

Those eyes that he has hardened, her worry lines darkened as she raises her eyebrows. “What? Don’t tell me that  _ lo estás defiendo.  _ That bastard is going to drag you under with him once he get caught.  _ Te va dejar.  _ Criminals don’t care about no kids as long as they live and keep  _ ese mugroso dinero  _ and end up on top.” 

 

The sight of his worried mother is one that will soften them, even make them cry. At this point he was actually close to go cry. She was saying all those things when she doesn’t even know him. She hasn’t met him. She hasn’t been around. She hasn’t been around for the past seven years. There is no betrayal more painful than a mother that judges her child’s life decisions, especially to their face. That was what was happening right down. Josh had his head slightly down, looking ashamed as if he broke the window with his baseball, and had his eyes glued on the table in front of him. 

 

The table should have  _ flipped  _ because  _ his mother was in jail. He  _ should be scolding  _ her.  _ Especially when she has another four years to her sentence. I guess stealing credit cards does that to you. 

 

“Joshua,” her voice more gentle, a tone that should comfort him but instead brought back that one memory of her shushing him when he was crying when they were going to take her away. “ _ Mijo,  _ I’m telling you because I worry about you. I’m just looking out for you.  _ Te Quiero.  _ You’re the most important thing in my life—“ 

 

His voice cracked when he spoke. “Please don’t lie to me.” Tears wanted to speak as he moved away, closing himself from her. She has no right to say that after all she put him through. If she really cared she wouldn’t have anything and just worked for someone like a normal mom. But she didn’t. And there was a cost to pay. 

 

Like any mother, she became worried and tried to reach for his hand that was in the table but Josh pulled his hands away when he felt the graze of her nails. “I—“ 

 

Joshua stands up, leaving her alone on Christmas Eve. Now he doesn’t feel bad for not bringing a present. 

 

***

 

She can’t stand sitting. Not with everything going on around her. Sophia was… strange. Not as in an actually alarming strange but her habits are not normal to rich kids. She doesn’t like sitting around, she wants adventure like her cousins, she wants to  _ help.  _

 

But she isn’t allowed to help. Goldsworth scolded her when she was younger about getting her hands dirty. “You are a princess to me,” he has said to her as he wipes the dirt from her face, “and princesses don’t need to help the help.” But she wants more than a comfortable life. She wants a uncomfortable life. If everyone’s life was comfortable then we wouldn’t have advanced as human beings. 

 

Sophia pokes her head into the kitchen to see the maids.  _ “Buenas tardes!”  _ she says. “Can I come in?” She’s that type of person where she  _ needs  _ to ask permission. Even if it’s her own house. 

 

Three of the maids whip their heads up and smiled. “Come on it,  _ niña. _ ” The oldest of the three says as they put the lid over the pot of soup. She wipes her hands on a rag. The gray hair frames her face the same way a track runner’s will when they run across the field. Sophia knows this woman ever since she has been alive, she was her nanny in a way. 

 

She smiles as she steps into the kitchen. “How is the cooking going,  _ Doña Concha. _ ” 

 

Concha’s face was one you see when you watch an old movie in black and white where the grandmother is wise and caring. “It’s all going well, Child. We have some small touches to do and that’s it.” 

 

“I hope you have a good Christmas,” Sophia says, honestly and caring. Not like people who work at a store and they’re payed to yell out  _ Happy Holidays,  _ but as one of a friend. 

 

The older woman smiles as she stares at her. Not looking over but staring her. Taking in the sight of the younger in front of her, like walking in into a museum and staring at the paintings and statues. “You look just like your mother,” she whispers. 

 

The whole kitchen went silent. The clattering of pots and pans stopped, the sound of water boiling, of drawers opening and closing— they stopped so she could say such a controversial thing that was the truth. 

 

No one speaks of her mother, not even Goldsworth himself speaks of her. She’s the past that should be forgotten. Her mother doesn’t seem to be even real. Sophia has wondered of it but kept quiet about it and accepted the fact that she doesn’t know her and will never meet her.

 

She doesn’t even have a picture of her. She doesn’t know her face. 

 

“You… you knew my mother?” she asked quietly, looking behind her just in case. 

 

Concha nods. “Yes, I did. You have her—“ and this is where she expects something like physical features that might be wrong or even vague. She expects eyes, nose, mouth, lips, anything like that but she didn’t expect: “soul.”

 

Anyone would be surprised or confused or even creeped out by an old woman saying that you have the soul of your dead mother. But Sophia’s eyebrows shot up in just curiosity. Her heart beats faster in her chest, the fact that this woman knows a missing chunk of what happened to that missing person in her life was so exciting. This woman holds the answers! 

 

But alas she cannot expose her excitement. Not in his situation. “Pardon?” she spoke barely over a whisper. 

 

Again, the older woman smiled but one of… remembrance. No— of trying to honor someone. “She was such a kind soul. She was the reason I have this job. Your mother looked the good in many people, always smiling. Wanting to understand people and why they act a certain way.” 

 

There was silence. 

 

It wasn’t one of awkwardness or discomfort. It was one of… letting the words sink in. For so long she has wondered where she gets her softness or her heart or why she seeks the good in people. Understanding. Trying. To do so. 

 

“I don’t want to offend you, child,” she says as she looks up for a second and small look of fear flashes through her eyes. “But I will never know why she was with your father.” 

 

All the blood floods to her ears, her heartbeat grows faster and faster as her stomach twists into a million knots. Was it shame or embarrassment? Or maybe just disappointment that she wanted something happy not some dark thing that will haunt her. She wanted something sweet but instead she got the idea planted in her head whose roots will sink into her brain and will be painful to pull out. She got the truth. 

 

“I—“ that was all she could say before Concha walks past her to grab something from the top shelf and going back to work. 

 

Suddenly Sophia felt alone, naked, exposed in some way or another because she didn’t know. She felt something cold underneath her skin that warms her up when that cold hits the surface that gets caught underneath her dress. That small space where loneliness yearns for sympathy. 

  
  
  
  


Tinsley has grown used to Ricky’s absence over the years they have been together. They have this agreement of “no questions asked, a peck on the mouth, and be safe” code. But even though he is a man that works as an assassin, he  _ murks people _ for a living. Of course he hides the fact with a charity website (he does, however, donate the money he earns). Ah yes, the wonders of the internet. 

 

But when Ricky opened the bedroom door while holding his bloody nose and a rosary. Tinsley’s eyes widen at the sight of that. “What the hell happened to you?” he says as he runs to his side as he sat him down to the bed. 

 

“Can I at least have something to clean my nose?” He says. 

 

Tinsley stands and gets some napkins from the nightstand. “Here,” he watched Ricky dab his nose into the napkins and automatically them turning red. In his other hand he was clutching the rosary. He knew that black rosary that had Jesus Christ crucified, Virgin Mary, and St. Judas hanging. 

 

“Now can I ask what happened?” Tinsley says, peeling his eyes away from the rosary. 

 

Ricky removes the napkins to reveal his nose, the blood he pressed against dry. His face was mostly pasted with a burgundy-brown that just looks disgusting on a beautiful face like his. Unsettling. Blood-curling. “Can’t you see? I got punched in the face. At church!” He cleaned his nose again. “I’m pretty sure that Christ was against this but what do I know!” 

 

Tinsley blinks three times as he lets the words sink in slowly. “I’m sorry— you got punched?” This is just ridiculous! Ricky is an avid church-goer. He might not go every Sunday but he does go every Christmas, New Years, Easter Day, and the days of Saints. Even if it’s just for an hour. 

 

He whips his face again and that’s when the blood stopped pouring. “Yes, can’t you see all the blood caking my face? It’s so fucking stupid! I should go back and—“ 

 

“Ricky,” he soothes. “What… happened?” 

 

The assassin took in a deep breath to calm himself down. His chest was beating faster than he could ever imagine, his face was hot from anger. Childhood flashbacks of being pushed around made his mouth dry and eyes wet with tears of anger. 

 

_ He was trying to me nice. He has been trying lately. And because of his upbringing he went to church on the holidays. So did many people. So when mass ended he decided to stand in the back as the rest of the people mingled with each other. Friends, acquaintances, possible enemies that put up a facade at church. (Ricky grew up going to church so he knew what to expect.) And since he didn’t know anyone he just waited, not really wanting to go back home yet.  _

 

_ Then slowly people started to talk to him. Asking his name and where he’s from and where he lives and what brings him here. They were all having a nice conversation until… _

 

_ “I come here with my wife almost every Sunday,” a man with curly black hair and round glasses says. “Our three kids are outside playing. Do you have kids?”  _

 

_ Of course, he answered: “Yes. One, a daughter.”  _

 

_ The curly haired man smiled. “And your wife?” he says as he looks around to try to find said wife.  _

 

_ Ricky’s mouth opens before he even thinks of the words. He doesn’t even think. He did have a wife but that was a lifetime ago. “Her mother isn’t around… anymore.” That was a life that deserved to be pushed under the bed or deep into his closet. Another skeleton to add.  _

 

_ The man’s mouth opened with a pity look on his face. “I’m very sorry to hear that. But do you have a stepmother for her? A girl like her deserves to have a mother figure in her life.”  _

 

_ Well that’s old fashion. But he’s at church so he can’t exactly lie, and it is 2018 so who gives a shit if he has a gay life partner.  _

 

_ “I don’t actually,” he begins. “I have a… stepfather for her.”  _

 

_ There was long silence before something hard landed right across his face. Especially his nose.  _

 

“So that’s what happened?” Tinsley asks, his hand intertwined with Ricky’s and the rosary that he was always so scared to touch. “A hate crime? Ricky, we have to report this! I can make a call to have that son of a bitch arrested—“ 

 

Ricky squeezes his hand to stop him. “Charlie, it’s okay. You nor I can do anything. And we can’t exactly report because of my work and you… well… being dead.” 

 

Tinsley sighs and puts his head on Ricky’s shoulder. He was right. You can’t exactly file a report when one of them kills people for a living and the other was an LAPD officer who is supposed to be dead. Imagine how strange that would be. 

 

Their hands are still together, the rosary bringing them together. Ricky remembers watching  _ Telenovelas _ and the scenes where the main character gets married to the love of their life in a beautiful church and they have something hoy tying them together in a bond that would make Heaven and Hell envy them. 

 

The assassin puts his head on top of the ex-detective’s. A couple that shouldn’t exist. The odd ones. 

 

A long nose brushes against the side of Ricky’s face and so does a small breath that ticked his skin, making the hair on the side of his neck rise up like a cold sweep of wind pushed him. “I would kiss you if you weren’t covered in blood,” Charles whispers. 

 

That made Ricky chuckle, flashing a bright smile that no one outside of closed doors. “I should shower then. It’s almost time to leave anyways.” He stands and throws the napkins away. He stops at the door before turning around to look at him. “And by the way, Charlie?” 

 

“Hmm?”

 

He smiled. “I am wearing the suit.” 

 

***

 

The shower was nice. It was refreshing to see all blood and sweat go down the drain. She will never understand why she prefers the water to me boiling hot. So hot that it makes her skin red, so hot that the steam made her eyes water burn, so hot that it hurts to turn it off and be exposed to the cool air outside of the bathroom.

 

The mirror was pasted in humidity, some of it getting heavy before slowly rolling down the mirror and into the sink. Gotta love condensation.

 

Scout wipes the mirror with her hand to look at her reflection. She then shrugs at no one but herself, decent. 

 

The routine continued the same way as any day. That was what she thought until she opened the door into her room and saw the ghost of her past standing against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. 

 

“Well isn’t that very ‘ghost of Christmas past’ of you,” Scout rolls her eyes as she walks towards her closet. 

 

_ “I do try, honestly,”  _ he flatters himself.  _ “My schedule has been something that has been holding me back from our usual visits.”  _

 

Scout pulled out a t-shirt from the hanger before pulling it over her head. “Hmm? Can I ask why you’re here, Sam?” 

 

Sam smiles as he wanders around her room, his hand trailing on the spines of the few books she has.  _ “You still have that book I gave you?”  _ he asks, honestly wondering. 

 

She picks up a pair of jeans from the chair she has in the corner in her room, smelling it and shrugging before pulling them on. “Which one?” 

 

Sam stopped and turned to look at her.  _ “You know which one.”  _

 

With the belt in hand, Scout looked at him before looking down to do her belt. “No… I threw it away.” She tuck in her shirt before grabbing a stray sock from the side of her bed. Of course she knew what book he was talking about, and she was telling the truth. But she didn’t throw away; she  _ burned  _ the book the night before she left for her first trip. It hurt to see those old pages that had her fingerprints burnt on them. 

 

_ “Oh…”  _ Sam says, shocked but not believing her.  _ “I thought maybe you wouldn’t since it  _ was  _ the last present I gave you—“  _

 

“Shut the fuck up!” Scout says over her shoulders as she puts her other sock on. “And that’s why I threw it away.”

 

Sam stands up straight, broad shoulders widening in defensive mode.  _ “What? Why?”  _

 

Scout continues to look for one last thing. Her shoes, no, she takes them off at the door. It is slightly cold out (just a fucking breeze) so a hat (she knows how Ryan will get) maybe. “Because I’m moving on,” she confesses. Not like a  _ I’m gay  _ confession but a confession that was needed to actually move on. Like in  _ Coco  _ how Hector and Miguel discovering that they’re family. (Whoops spoiler alert btw!) She turns around. “From you.” 

 

And, even though he was a figment of her imagination that she used to cope with all that goddamn trauma, this ghost of her past still manages to look offended by that.  _ “You can’t move on from me!”  _ He crosses towards her.  _ “I live inside you. Forever. You  _ need  _ me!”  _

 

Walking through a ghost was painful because it was cold (like any ghost hunter would tell you, that actually believes) and sent a shiver down her spine. But it also felt like walking through those spiderwebs in your attic. “No. I don’t. Because I  _ want  _ to move on. You’re just trying to suck any happiness from  _ my  _ life!” She stared dead at him. “You might not be dead; but you’re dead to me.” 

 

She grabs her jacket from behind the door, and slammed it shut and left the ghost of her past in that room. But it followed her as it went under the crack of the door and sat on her shoulder to whisper things she’ll remember at night.  _ Thanks a lot, Dad.  _

  
  
  
  
  


“ _ That’s  _ your nice shirt?” Ryan asks as he picks up a box from the table and puts it alongside all the other presents. 

 

Shane looks down at it. “What? What’s wrong with it?” 

 

The shortest sighs again. He’s been sighing for the last ten minutes so much that it hurts his lungs. “You are not wearing a Hawaiian shirt to my cousin’s house.”  _ Because he’ll judge the hell out of you. And me.  _

 

Shane shrugged. “It’s no big deal. We see each other every Christmas so I think we have passed the whole ‘you’re rich and I’m broke so I’m going to pretend to be someone I’m not for the night so you won’t judge me’ phase.” 

 

And then, completely out of character, he pouted. Not in a childish way but in a way that an adult would when they’re disappointed or hurt. Now, Ryan isn’t the type to shy away from showing emotions. That’s his thing! He shows emotions because he wasn’t going to let society tell him that a man shouldn’t cry or admit he’s scared. No one should go through that. 

 

And when he shows that face Shane raises an eyebrow. “What’s wrong?” he whispers. 

 

He shrugged, not wanting to wanting to form the words. Yes, he isn’t shy about it but that doesn’t mean that he can’t verbalize it. Ryan rubbed his face, “This year feels weird.” Not exactly true but not exactly wrong. 

 

Another eyebrow was risen. “How?” 

 

And again an eyebrow was risen but this time in just… understanding. Shane steppes next to him before putting his chin on his shoulder. It hurts him a bit but it was something to cheer him up when he’s sad. “It’s okay. You don’t have to explain.” 

 

“I worry,” he admits. 

 

Shane nods once. “You worry,” he agrees. 

 

Ryan moves away a bit. “So let’s worry together. Okay?” 

 

This was childish but just so… right. Maybe, just maybe, he could get inside his head to calm those wide-eyes fears and to tell him that he’s here, to hold him and to guide him. He’s here. 

 

With him. 

 

He pulled away when he heard the door closing shut behind someone whose feet was pitter patter of the socks on the wooden hallway. Scout stopped at the beginning of the hallways to stare of him. “Hawaiian print on Christmas?” she points out. 

 

Shane points at her socks. “Easter and Halloween socks on Christmas?” he bites back. 

 

Both of them rolled their eyes. It was actually quite amusing to see the two interact. They have this ‘I know something you don’t’ vibe that just radiates from them and becomes a storm. But it is in all good fun. 

 

She tries to bite back. “Did you even shave?” And she knew she won this round when his hand goes to his upper lip where wiry hairs stuck out and made him look like a tall, skinny walrus. 

 

But since they both like by  _ everything you do I could do better than you’  _ Shane smiles. “Did  _ you  _ even shave?” he asked as he points at the small space where she cuffed her jeans goes over her socks. 

 

And Scout, this is where she’s like Ryan, looks the other direction when she lost because if she opens her mouth a whole war will surely be in the living room. This is one of the many battles in the war. 

 

Shane turns around to see Ryan giggling, looking better from before. Shane wonders if she just did it to make him feel better. He leans in and tries to kiss him but he stops him with his hand on his shoulder, “She’s right. Go shave. It’s like kissing a hair brush.” 

 

Flashing false offense Shane turned to Scout. “See what you did?” She snorted as she picked up something from the floor and put it on the couch. Shane turned back to Ryan. “Can I keep the shirt though?” 

 

And Ryan wheezes as took off the black tie and put it on the table. 

 

***

 

Last minute Christmas shopping is a nightmare like anyone can tell you. It’s even worse than in the movies too because you can feel everyone’s anxiety and frustration slipping out of them through their pores. It was stressful. 

 

And since Night didn’t know what to give to his brother, he figured that maybe not getting into another fight this year was a gift enough. 

 

Legs was the one that has to be in line since he didn’t blend into the crowd of average sized people, his long legs begin to ache as Night walked around in the store to grab bullshit presents. 

 

“I hate this, I hate this, I hate this, I hate this,” Night mutters under his breath, tired and lost mentally. He has a couple of presents in his arms that might work. Basic things like gift cards, lotions, candy, cheap jewelry that will certainly leave someone a rash (sorry Sophia). He walks around, aware of the limited time he has at the moment. Honestly he feels like he stands out even more for wearing a suit in the middle fucking Target. 

 

He was able to walk around without many people staring at him. But he does have a feeling that Legs is getting looks. I mean, he is 6’4 wearing a suit that looks like something from the 80s. 

 

Night pulls out his phone and begins to walk towards the entrance. He was able to find Legs, of course he was because how can you miss that tall, tall man that looks like a damn tree with sunglasses on his head. “Can you take those off?”

 

“Hmm?” he says through the straw of his iced coffee. 

 

The short ex-mobster pointed at Legs’ head. “Those. You look like the walking stereotype of a white girl.” Night then looks down at his chest, “With gold necklaces that makes you look like a tacky uncle that works with the mafia.”

 

Legs snorted and choked on the coffee. That was quite scandalous, it was like an actress writing a movie about being an actress in a movie. Inception. He coughed before saying, “Mob. It’s the mob actually”

 

And they both laughed. Laughed because it was an inside joke that no one could understand,  _ no one _ . They laughed because they almost died but still managed to laugh about it. They laughed because they were in a extremely violent situation but laughed because they were able to escape to a new life. They laughed because they survived. 

 

Night leans on the handlebar of the cart alongside Legs, right at his side. “I never understood why a bar.” he asks. His head drops on Legs’ shoulder, tired. “We could have started a bookstore or something classy.” 

 

“A bar  _ is  _ classy. But I didn’t see you complaining,” Legs said as he pushed the shopping cart forward as the line moved on. 

 

“I guess not,” Night says. And they wait. And wait. And wait 

  
  
  



	3. My Family Gave To Me...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The whole family is here! 
> 
> And more...

The night slowly fell across the sky, like rain rolling down a windshield. At this moment anyone would say something about stars or some bullshit like that but with L.A pollution you can’t really see stars that much. Unless you live way up in a apartment building or decided to go camping after taking a hike up the mountains. It was nice but not worth it. Dark blue and black slowly sat down over the horizon while the once transparent clouds slowly turned into a misty white on the sky. It was something straight out of a postcard that would be sold at a nice-ass hotel. 

 

That was what Joshua thought as he waits outside of the building. McClinkton is going to pick him after he finishes some phone calls for the day. The job of an art thief that also covers up with a thrift shop can be quite complicated. And even if its a thrift shop, it’s actually comforting to know that not only are you stealing from the rich but also giving people jobs. 

 

It was Josh’s idea to make it into a thrift shop, back when he just met him and was just trying to get a job as a spy or something like that. McClinkton had looked at him in a funny way and asked why a thrift shop. Joshua shrugged, “I grew up on them so it feels like more people should be comforted by clothes they can afford.” That was the idea, that was until rich kids were coming along from their side of block and made used clothes into a fashion statement. Which was fine, until he saw how many thrift stores around them were raising their prices. That was when Josh hated rich folks even more than usual. 

 

He looks at the direction in which the sound of a car comes from. It was a nice car, the nicest car an art thief can buy without raising suspicion. Of course he didn’t exactly had to hide the fact he was rich. Cops don’t really raise an eyebrow when a rich guy has a nice ass car. 

 

The car stopped right in front of him. It was a slick black 1966 convertible Impala that Josh had nicknamed  _ La Ruka  _ because of the fact that the car is as hard to manage as a wife. He opened the door and sat in the passenger seat. “Hey, you got everything done right, boss?” Josh asks as he puts on his seatbelt. 

 

Banjo nods. “Yeah. I got everything done. Just in time too.” He checked his watch. “We got an hour’s drive and—“ he was cut off when Josh turns on the radio. 

 

The art thief sighs and rolls his eyes.  _ Ugh teenagers.  _

 

***

 

“What the fuck are you listening to?” 

 

“A song.” 

 

The said song still continued to play. It was from the 80s, the  _ 80s _ . What is a teenager in 2018 doing listening to a song that was written thirty years ago. Not to mention she was listening to it on a Walkman, as if she doesn’t have a phone. The music spills through the shitty earbuds so they could both hear the songs. 

 

Letting Scout choose a song or music tends to go into the same direction, and that is that they would both end up scolding her when the song had any curse words or inappropriate things. But the song isn’t even inappropriate, it’s just… weird. There’s no cursing or even something that allures to sex. 

 

_ “Teenage suicide! Don’t do it!” _ rang the song. 

 

Shane has to turn around to stare at her since Ryan was the one driving. He was expecting her to look ashamed but she just seemed to be mouth the words. “Who even showed you that song?” he asks. 

 

Scout answers between mouthing, “Maya.” Ah. Yes. Maya. One of the girlfriends. Any guardian would be interested in their child’s relationship (in a normal way) but there was also something weird about not actually knowing who your child is dating is totally normal. They both looked back at each other but said nothing.

 

The song then ended and Ryan was expecting that she might put it back again but instead she just put the Walkman and shitty headphones on her side as she stared out the car window. Los Angeles passed through the window. It was like fast forwarding a movie and seeing all of your favorite scenes pass you, and you know the movie so well that maybe you don’t want to see it anymore. The disgust in your pleasure hurts to watch over and over again. 

 

It was all quiet and it was slightly awkward, so Shane turned on the radio and a song immediately went on:

 

_ If teardrops could be bottled, _

_ There will be swimming pools filled with models, _

_ Told that a tight dress is what makes you a whore. _

 

_ If “I love you” was promise, will you break it, if you’re honest? _

_ Tell the mirror what you know you she heard before. _

 

_ I don’t...wanna be you…anymore… _

 

Ryan stopped for a red light and they all just had to stay there, in their own silence as they listen to the song. The eerie tone underneath it echoes and drowns them. The song then stops and they were all relieved but they would never admit that to each other. Ryan would have been tapping his foot desperately if it wasn’t for the fact that he was the one driving and he didn’t want to fucking die with a kid in the back seat. 

 

The moment the red light turned green he pressed on the gas as fast as he could without actually causing an accident by how hard he had slammed on the gas. He saw out of the corner of his eye that Scout’s eyes were still looking out the window but without the exploration she had only moments ago. This time it was one of escape. The eyes of a prisoner wanting to be free yet the guilt of their crimes are the bars they look out of. 

 

“Did you even comb your hair?” he asked as he looked back at the teenager. Scout’s hair is like a bush of dead grass, even the dark brown color matches if you ignore the green and blue highlights that had faded thanks to the dangerous amount of bleach in the pools she’s been. Her hair isn’t even curly, it’s just… malleable. 

 

Scout combs it down with her hands. “I combed my hair, yes but I didn’t curl it or do anything with it. So…. no.” 

 

They parked in front of the big house that was the Goldsworth’s residence (note that Ryan says Goldsworth not Tinsley’s, because we  _ all know  _ who makes the money in the house). Everyone takes off their seatbelts at the almost same time, creating the illusion that everyone wanted to be here when they did not… exactly. Yes, she did wanted be here but also has to be around her uncles and there was a possibility that her crazy aunt was coming--

 

“Scout!” she was tackled into a hug before she had the chance to even turn around, even though she knew damn well who it was. For someone that was short (actually they’re both exactly the same size) she was quite heavy. Scout manages to wrap her arms around Sophia and laugh as she spins her around. 

 

Seeing two girls that look almost identical but with drastic personalities hug and missed each other so much— it was the small spark of peace in the world. 

 

Ryan smiles before he was face to face with his cousin and it drops almost instantly. “How’s it going Ricky?” he asks as he stuffs his hands in his slacks and felt the tie that had stuffed there last minute. 

 

The girls might be almost identical but Ryan and Ricky would have been carbon copies— if you ignore the small details here and there. Ryan would never be like Nicolas and be even remotely look-alike of Ricky. Not exactly identical but they are similar enough to pass as each other. 

 

One of the differences is the smile they have. Yes, the three of them have big teeth but how they smile seemed to be what they show who they are as humans. Ricky’s has a sharp edge that will make everyone that doesn’t know him uncomfortable while Nick’s is one of an old man that’s sick 24/7– while Ryan… well, he looks like fifteen year old that hasn’t grown out his awkward-dorky face. He’s still has a very soft face too. 

 

“Hello, cousin,” he said almost cold enough to be mean but also in a family way that is allowed. Ryan will never admit it but he’s actually quite jealous that Ricky, who is the exact age as him, is worth millions. You can see the fact that he’s rich by just smelling him, expensive cologne that makes anyone dizzy with greed, envy, or lust. But since Ryan has been smelling that for the past years of his life— it’s nauseating. “How’s… what do you call it— YouTube going?”

 

He presses a tight smile at him. “Fine. Well actually. How about your-whatever-your-job is going?” That’s not really a secret though, that Ricky is doing something illegal as his work but since it’s really none of his business Ryan doesn’t care. 

 

A sharp smile shone across his face the same way a mirror might flash sunlight off itself. “Very well, thank you for asking, cousin.” They both stood next of each other. Fantastic, they both think. 

 

Tinsley smiles wide at Shane, one of family nostalgia. Memories of seeing each other at parties and gatherings and them having fun under the dark skin of Chicago is something straight out of a movie. Unlike other families (cue the awkward cough) that have angst and tension in between them, Shane and Charles have always gotten along. Always have been the same age and almost the exact same interests, yes they have different personalities but they have always been friends. There was never been a tragic or big fight that have made their relationship strained.

 

“Charlie, don’t you look young,” flatters the ghosthunter. “I guess with all that money you can do whatever you want.” Despite the many times Shane has made fun of Tinsley about being Goldsworth’s sugar baby he genuinely cares about the man. 

 

Tinsley rolls his eyes but a smile throws off the whole being annoyed by him. “How are you, Alex?”

 

This time Shane rolled his eyes at the nickname. It kinda bothers him that Tinsley knows about all his awkward childhood moments and phases and that he can just bring them up out of nowhere just to ruin his day with cringy flashbacks. Like this one! This one was when Shane would just go by his middle name because there were another Shane in his class and like the edgy teen he was he would refuse to go by his first name.

 

“To be  _ FRANK, _ ” they both snickered at the inside jokes they had, “I need to sleep. And--” He stopped himself when he noticed Charles staring at him with a strange look in his eyes. “What?”

 

His cousin pointed at his shirt and said: “You’re wearing a Hawaiian shirt on Christmas?” The way he said it made Shane feel like he was being scolded. 

 

He scowled at his cousin and crossed his arm over his chest to cover his shirt. Honestly he might as well take it off if people are going to judge him for it. But then again, Shane isn’t going to break under the judgment of others. “Yes. I am. I happen to enjoy flowers.” Shane then looks down (well, in front because tall height runs in the family). “But I am sorry that you’re suddenly too rich for it,” he said as he flicks Tinsley’s open shirt collar. 

 

Tinsley pushes his hand away playfully. “Leave me alone,” he blushes, somewhat ashamed of what he was wearing. It was a suit, yes, but it wasn’t as nice as what he would wear if we was going to a party with Ricky. Something in him always made him feel bad for everything. Every single thing he does makes him feel bad when he goes to sleep and he just stares at the ceiling because of a guilt that he knows he shouldn’t feel but all he knows is that feeling of guilt. That guilt when he wakes up in a bed with egyptian silk sheets and with Ricky’s arm over his waist. That feeling of  _ not being worthy.  _

 

Is it normal to feel that when you are literally in the lap of luxury? 

  
  


Scout was able to pick her up and spin her around, it wasn’t that hard. They’re basically the same weight and height— they’re basically the same person. Well…

 

“How have you been, my dear cousin?” Sophia says as she pulls away from Scout’s arms. Seeing them stand in front of each other was a sight that might raise the hairs on some people’s skin. Two girl that look identical in every way except for who and how they live. That raises the question: would they be the same if they switched positions in life? 

 

The young ghost hunter looked around with caution in her eyes as her fingers tensed on her cousin’s shoulder. Scout leaned in to whisper, “I have so much to tell you but they’,re already on look out because of me.”

 

A look of surprise shouldn’t have risen up on the doll’s face, but it did. With naive eyes and hopeful dreams she looked around, “What did you this time?”

 

In the short few moments in between their whispering the sound of a car’s wheels screeching past them made them yelp and jump on top of each other. The car zoomed and then jerked to a stop right next to their car before the window rolls down to reveal Joshua and Banjo. 

 

With Josh driving for some strange reason; while Banjo looked like he might have a heart attack as he was clinging his hand over his chest. “Hey!” he yelled as he turned off the ignition of the car before stepping out. 

 

Banjo basically collapsed out of the car, looking like a puddle of a scared shitless man. He took in big deeps of air with as he gathered himself to smile at everyone. 

 

The girls tackled their “cousin” into a hug and he managed to pick both of them up. Joshua might not look like them but they both consider him their cousin. “Joshua, why were you driving?” Scout asked as she put her feet on the ground and punched him in the shoulder while still spinning the doll. 

 

Sophia giggles as she pulls away to push her dress down. “I was wondering too. As I see that poor Benjamin over there is dying.”

  
  
  


Banjo was gasping for air as he pushed himself away from the car, having to deal the small trauma he had went through because of his beautiful and lovely car. This is what he gets for letting Joshua drive.  _ Let me drive, _ he said when they stopped to get gas.  _ It’ll be fun,  _ he said as he managed to snatch up the keys from Banjo’s hand.  _ It’ll be fine,  _ he thinks as he gets into the passenger.  _ What’s the worse that can happen— _ And Banjo wasn’t fast enough to clutch on his seatbelt before Josh stepped on the gas. 

 

A sour flavor in his mouth made his face ache and he felt a ball of iron in his throat. Got to love almost dying! He thinks, he could have died. Imagine that: a super rich art thief who has security all over his house and work office could have died because of a car crash. For a man that’s so uncommon he could have died in the most common way ever.  _ Well isn’t that pathetic.  _

 

Banjo tries to stand up without the urge to throwing up all over Ricky’s driveway. That would be embarrassing—

 

“Benjamin, it’s good to see you again.”

 

The art thief’s face turns green as he feel his stomach churn. He’s so close to vomiting but before he could he looked up and saw Ricky looking down at him. Banjo’s heart swelled and his blood flushed to his his ears so fast that it was almost the drop of water that would tip the cup of water over. But the thought that came in made him feel more disgusting than having actual vomit close to the back of your throat. It was an impure thought about Ricky and he, and how Banjo is sitting on his knees in front of him made it even more realistic. 

 

He swallowed the sour stone in his throat before clearing his throat and standing up. “Ricky— hello again. I—“ Banjo stops when he sees the man with the same face as his next to him. “Charles… hello.” 

 

Tinsley’s face showed discomfort by the situation, his eyes slightly hard and mouth twitching to try to force a smile. “Ben,” he says. “It’s been a long time.” Tinsley wasn’t  _ that  _ stupid. He knew about Banjo’s… adoration towards Ricky. It was obvious, any detective with any sense of body language training would know when someone was “in love” with someone. And it makes it awkward when you’re dating the person they’re ”in love” with. Tinsley makes his fake smile as believable as he can but it fails. Anyone will be uncomfortable when your cousin loves your boyfriend. 

 

Banjo wipes away the clamyness of his hands on his pants and made it look like he was wiping away the dirt from his pants. He cleared his throat once again before speaking, “I’m sorry I was late. It’s just that, uh,  _ someone  _ almost killed me on the way over here.” 

 

“Sorry!” called out Joshua, taking the blame with an awkward wave that they all know means well. 

 

The art thief gives his assistant a mocking look of offended and was so close to sticking his tongue out at him. Banjo jumped a little bit when he feels a hand on his arm that pulls him forward— it was Ricky’s hand. 

 

He looks down at the man he has been absolutely smitten by and saw those eyes that made his bones ache with fear and love and want and  _ need _ . Ricky smiles the type of smile that you would give to a close co-worker: trusting enough and being acknowledged. And to anyone you would be offended by that tight fake smile given by your best client but Banjo, it was enough. 

 

“Let’s get you freshen up, you look green.” Ricky walked him towards the large and long steps that were in the front of his house. If you can call it a house, it was more of a mansion than a house. With wide windows on both sides of the front of the house and with those pillars that hold up the small porch that umbrellas the front door. A navy blue door with blue splashed everywhere even though white was the main color. It looked more of a mayor’s city hall than a “simple man’s” house. 

 

Banjo was basically carried halfway up the steps when another honking was heard and everyone looked at each other, simultaneously asking each other who was missing. The car was a car that no one recognized until it parked right behind Banjo’s and the two people that were inside stepped out and the tension just grew. 

 

Ricky let go of the poor little art thief, who managed to catch himself even with motion sickness, and stomped down the steps and grabbed Tinsley by then arm as they slowly and try to look as calmly they could. “Charlie,” Ricky whispers with a tight smile and through bared teeth, “why is my brother here?”

 

To say that Ricky didn’t want him here was an  _ understatement.  _ It wasn’t that he hated his brother; he just strongly doesn’t want him around… like ever. “I invited him,” Tinsley said with the same kind smile that they would present to a parent-student conference (if they let her go to school). 

 

_ “You what?”  _ He hissed, maintaining that ‘perfect-family-hosts’ bullshit. “Why would you do that?” The blood went up to his ears in a moment of calming his heart rate. This is going to be a  _ fantastic  _ Christmas dinner. 

  
  
  


Night expected many things from him and Legs appearing at the party. While driving here he did feel a bit weird. Has he really went down to a level in which he’s going to crash his brother’s party? Is he that petty? And to answer the question:  _ yes.  _

 

What he didn’t expect was that he and Tinsley were walking towards them with linked arms looking like a couple with great hosting manners when Night knows that Ricky isn’t that kind of guy. He’s more of… ‘why are you here? Leave me alone.’ He’s always been like that, when Nick knocked on the bathroom door after Ricky have been there for too long he would yell at him to go away. Ricky, in Nick’s perception, is very cold and shuts people off in his life. He’s always been distant and puts his walls up ever since they were very young. 

 

But that was many years ago, that was when they were children so they’re (hopefully) better and changed now. But with Tinsley, who knows. Maybe that stupid little detective was able to make a dent in Ricky’s steel heart. 

 

Legs shut the car door behind him as he fixes his trousers and was tackled into a hug by three small teenagers. “Uncle Legs!” they cheered. They knocked the air out of him as six arms squeezed his sides together and almost popped his back. Thank paperwork into making him into an old man with back problems. 

 

“I would carry the three of you but you’re too big!” In all honesty, Legs  _ loves  _ children. He always have and will always love kids. He grew up surrounded by them, as most of his brother’s girlfriends always seemed to have at least one child, and would take care of them. Maybe that’s why he got away from the mob, he didn’t want to risk the fact that in one of his jobs he would have to kill a child. That wrenched his heart too hard for his comfort. A 37 year-old man? A bullet through the head was easy work. But a child? Never. 

  
  
  


Nick and Ricky speed up to each other, looking like they might swing at each other any second because of the look in their eyes. Rage and stress and just the wanting of squeezing the life out of each other. 

 

Legs and Tinsley lock eyes from across the driveway and had a silent agreement that if they kill each other one of them has to pull them apart while the other one records. 

 

The ex-mobster and the assassin stand toe to toe to each other. Both standing as if they were men on a mission, with their heads up high and having the knowledge that they can both rip each other into pieces. Jesus Christ this is gonna be fun! 

 

But to Ricky’s surprise, Nick put his hands in his pockets to show intimacy and vulnerability. To show that despite their major issues and difficulties and differences, he trusts him. 

 

That or he has a knife in his pocket. Whatever works. 

 

“I was quite surprised when that invitation arrived,” Night said. “I mean,  _ you  _ raised a finger to mail it to me. That, or your little boy toy sent it to me.” A pause. “Hey, Cooper.”

 

Tinsley raises his hand and gave a small wave. “Hey, Nick.” 

 

A hand clasped on Night’s shoulder made him jump just a bit and he looked back/up to his long legged friend that was almost the carbon copy of his brother’s boyfriend. Was that weird to watch? Yes, very much so. But then again, to each their own… I guess. 

  
  
  


Banjo needed a mint to stop himself from gagging and choking on the sour taste in his mouth. He might have thrown up in his mouth a little bit. But he wasn’t going to risk being humiliated in front of Ricky. No. He has so much to loose at this party. He has this weird fantasy that he came up with in the shower about how in the middle of the dinner party Ricky will make a toast and break up with Tinsley, grab Banjo and kiss him like that black and white movie  _ Casablanca.  _

 

But fantasy don’t tend to come true. Fantasies are the things that are supposed to stay in your head until they slowly rot away and die. You can’t force your fantasy into real life, it would be like playing God. 

 

Yet, God has somehow heard and seen the fantasy that danced in his head and presented it in front of him because  _ Ricky was wearing the suit.  _ The one that he loved and had wishful and lustful thoughts about. Banjo’s face went bright red with the memories of him home alone and with just those thoughts that crawled from the cracks in the shadows and formed into his greatest desire. 

 

God.

  
  
  
  


Slowly everyone went inside and ignoring the tension that (almost) every single family member has. It looms over them like a dark storm cloud that slowly is gaining water inside of it until it explodes. 

 

“You did WHAT?” exclaimed the doll. 

 

“Shhhhhhhh!” Scout hushed as she slapped her hand over Sophia’s mouth to prevent her from yelling. 

 

The teenagers had filed into Sophia’s room after gawking at all of the nice stuff she had. A piano at the entrance with small little porcelain dolls collection that was probably cost more than everything in Scout and Josh’s room combined. Everything in her room was expensive, the strong smell of perfume was as expensive as diamond earrings. Her soft duvet bed with blush pink and white was a cloud plucked out from straight of the sky. 

 

Scout pulled her hand away from her cousin’s mouth and was expecting to find a lips mark in the palm of her hand but it was bare. “Shut up! You’re going to tell the whole world about it?” she whispered-yelled as she looked over at the door with the paranoias that someone is watching and listening through the other side of the door. 

 

Sophia made a face. “Oh I’m sorry. It’s just how…”

 

“The fuck…” Josh continues, gaping. 

 

“... do you almost get arrested because of weed that wasn’t yours?” Scout said as she crossed her legs on the cloud bed. “Yeah. So that happened to me. And  _ they’re pissed. _ ”

 

She grabbed a pink stuffed pig and Sophia put her chin on it. “I’m sure that they understood that it was a mistake.”

 

Shaking her head, Scout sighs as she flops on her back. “You don’t wanna know what happened.”

 

Josh sigh-screams into his hands. “Sophia, this is weed. As in, if she can get thrown in jail for it. So what happened?”

 

_ “Yes, these are the guardians of —“  _

 

Scout cringes, “Ugh. My real name.”

 

“Just continue the story!” 

 

“Fine!”

 

_ “—[Inserts Scout name here] whom I’m talking to?” The secretary said. It was Ryan who had the misfortune of picking up the phone. He was at home editing a video when he felt his phone ring and saw that it was the school calling him. Many ideas flashed in head, he was expecting many things like: a broken arm or a fight that she might have gotten to or even suspension. But— _

 

_ “Yes?” He asks, his heart dropping to his stomach hoping for the best.  _

 

_ The secretary then said, “We are here just to inform you that the child in your care has been taken to be asked several questions about her and some suspicion of having drugs on school grounds.” _

 

_ Ryan’s hand goes up to his face to cover his eyes, terrified of what this might mean. “Is she okay? Does she need us to go with her to a police station or—?” _

 

_ “No. She’s just being questioned. Us calling you means that we are asking permission to look through her stuff and pat her down.” _

 

_ He looks over at the clock. Shane was supposed to be back home right now. Jesus Christ. “...Ye-Yes. We give you permission to do anything that might be necessary.” _

  
  
  


“So that’s what happened?” Josh asked, laying on his stomach staring at Scout tell the story. 

 

She nods. “I’m still mad about it too. They pat me down, looked through my bag and locker, and they were  _ ready  _ to take a blood test if I have been smoking or vaping or whatever they suspected me of doing.” Scout crosses her arms over her chest as she looked up at the high ceiling in Sophia’s room, counting leaves of the small vineyard design painted. “And they were sure it was me because of all the bullshit I’ve been done in class.”

 

The doll pokes her cousin on the shoulder, feeling her jean jacket rough on her finger. “Were you actually on any illegal substance or was it a mistake?” Sophia almost screamed when Scout suddenly jerks back up and was leaning back on her arms. 

 

She looked at her dead in the eyes. “Do you think I’m dumb enough to be smoking something on campus… on an after school bus… where I know there’s cameras when I’m sitting in front of them?”

 

Sophia looked at her and shook her head. Her cousin was many things— a troublemaker, a sassy child, a smart girl with potential — but dumb enough to do that? “No.” 

 

There was a knock on the door and everyone looked over to see it open and Tinsley poking his head in. “Hey. Sorry to interrupt but dinner is almost ready.”

 

Being polite, everyone nodded and murmured a thank you before he shuts the door. They all wait until they hear his footsteps walk down the stairs and then Sophia asks: “How’s Julie, Josh?” 

 

Josh’s head looked up from him peeling the fingernail polish from his nail. He has zoned out and even forgot that he was there and it startled him to be the focus of attention all of the sudden. “Oh! Julie? She’s, uh, fine. She’s with her family in Peru. But we haven’t talked since school has gotten out.” He zoned out before saying: “Can I borrow one of you guys’ phone? I’m going to try and call her.”

 

Sophia smiles and pointed at the heart-shaped phone that was connected to the landline on her nightstand. 

 

He went over to pick it up and dialed the numbers that he had memorized by heart. How many times he had stayed up so late in the night talking and speaking sweet moments. She made his heart skip a beat, she makes his day better when they bump into each other in class and in school —  _ she makes him feel alive.  _

 

The other side of the line was humming for a long time. Too long. He was standing there with the phone up to his ear and it was going on for too long. Josh put the phone down the same way his heart dropped to his stomach, hard and loud. The clattering of the top of the heart also clashed like his own heart. 

 

Everyone didn’t know what to say. They didn’t want to say anything with the fear that it would break his heart or would offend. But somehow Sophia was the bravest of the two and said: “She misses you and will continue to miss you through her busy schedule. You just have to be patient until the moment where all is calm for her to show her love.”

 

Again, no one said anything. 

 

Until: “That was some tight shit, Sophia.” Scout chuckles with wonder and pushes her softly which caused the one holding the plushie to giggle. 

 

“Thank you,” Sophia says with a smile. “It was quite profound. It happens sometimes by accident.”

 

The other scoffed. “Doubt that.” 

 

***

 

The kids were called down for dinner and all of them awed when they saw the feast that was being presented in front of them. It was something straight from the  _ Harry Potter  _ movies when the kids ate mountains and mountains of food that most of them devoured. 

 

The dining table was set up like something in medieval times with fancy plates and silverware that was probably made of actual silver. There were cups of wine and glasses of champagne that are basically begging to be used. 

 

Legs was leaning on the top of the chair with a leg crossed over each other. His grey suit making him look taller and longer and thinner than usual. But the think that threw the look off was the sunglasses on the top of his head. 

 

Scout gasped and grabbed Josh by the arm and pulled him down to whisper: “Uncle Legs looks like JJ Bittenbinder.” 

 

They both burst into a giggling fit as Sophia looked very confused as she held her hands folded in front of her. She stared at the whole set of people, talking and living and knowing each other as family but also had their own family to tend to. They all grew up with an idea of what their parents were: heroes, hardworking folks, teachers, students, maids, doctors, anything. But her, she didn’t know anything at all. With four fluent languages that rest in her mouth and the finest education filling her brain— she doesn’t know anything. 

 

“Scout,” she says as she looks down at her nice shoes. “Do you talk to your mother?” 

 

Her smiles slowly faded from her face as she let the question sink down in her brain, processing and accepting it into her mindset. “... I— yes. Yes, we, uh, talked yesterday at the clinic.” Scout’s mother was in a psychiatric facility where she’s going to spend the end of her days. For those who say that the brain and the heart are two different things they were wrong because a broken heart can cause a broken mind. 

 

And she was lying. They didn’t talk, she talked to her.  _ Tried.  _ She tried to talk to the empty shell of her mother’s body as she hands her the small box that she called her gift. Rose didn’t even touch it. 

 

“How is she?” Sophia asked, unaware of the weight of the question. 

 

“She’s fine,” she lied with a nice smile on her face. “She wished all of us a Merry Christmas.”

 

There were servants walking around with plates in their hands, showing glasses of champagne. Has it occurred to them that they’re kids and they can’t drink? Not really. But Scout doesn’t mind. 

 

Everyone was pulled from their conversations when the bell ring rings in the house. Everyone looked at each other. 

 

Ricky was the most confused of them all. He was the one who made the list of guest so who else would know about the party? Tinsley leaned into his ear to whisper that he didn’t invite no one else. He slowly walked towards the door to open the door and was face to face with the devil. 

 

“Francesca,” Ricky said. 

 

Scout’s heart dropped alongside her smile. Her hand reaches for the glasses of champagne and took a long sip before she dropped it and it shattered on the floor like her heart. 


	5. A Trauma That Will Haunt My Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I know you are...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternatively called “Family Tension” or “I Heard From A Litte Birdie...”

All of the air had fell out of her lungs. She couldn’t breathe. Her heart was beating like a hammer on a cloth and all of the blood went to her ears. Hot tears sprang behind her eyes at the sight of the woman at the door. The woman that she’s been trying to forget. The woman that caused tears of fear and trauma. The woman that haunts her dreams like the buzzing of snow the television and the beeping on the neon blocks on a tv that yells out ERROR. 

The Woman. 

Ice went into her veins as she tried to breathe. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. This wasn’t real. This was just another nightmare. Another nightmare that she’ll wake up from and take a shower and feel better about. This can’t be real. 

“Francesca,” Ricky said again, trying to wrap his brain around her being here. His relationship with Norris was one of rivals but also friends that are stuck up enough to prove to each other that they’re better than the other and not as stuck up. 

Yes, it’s very strange. 

She smiled brightly to show off her bright white teeth. “Richard, hi! How do you do?” 

He looked at her with knitted eyebrows before looking back over his shoulder at the rest. “I’m fine, but what are you doing here?” Ricky was actually confused. He didn’t expect his rival/close friend to just drop by out of nowhere; especially when she’s supposed to on the other side of the world. 

Francesca shrugged. “We just thought that we would drop by.”

Ricky then felt someone standing next to him and he managed to see that it was Tinsley who was standing over him. “We?” The tallest asked. 

And he was answered when someone with curly hair that floated past her shoulders and sad looking eyes that made her look a century older than her actual age. “Freddy?” 

Freddy smiles and tried to wave with a cake in her hands. “Ricky, hi. Sorry that we were a little late.”

Now, Ricky has two options here. He has his rival and her sister at his front door with a cake and seemed to have came with good intentions; and he can shut the door at their faces and continue the party without any troubles but with strange looks that his family might give OR let them come in and risk being a sticky situation. 

He swallowed as he tried to think through the options again and again until he decided on one. His hand leaves the side of the door and grabs the cake from Freddy’s hands before saying, “It’s alright. Come in, make yourself at home.”

The sisters stepped into the home, Freddy looking less nice than her billionaire sister. Her hair was puffy enough to look like a cloud that had fallen on her head. “Thank you,” she smiled with slightly less white teeth. 

Another one to add to the party. 

 

Immediately everyone looked at each other, searching for the answers for why on Earth would Ricky invite someone that wasn’t family to the party? He doesn’t have friends so these people are just strangers to everyone else. 

Josh’s hand looks for Scout or Sophia, who were supposed to be by his side, but he turned to see that they were gone. Both of the look alikes were gone. This can’t be good. 

***

Gasping for air, she locked herself in the bathroom (which was a bad idea because this was giving her claustrophobic flashbacks). A sense of panic and fear curled her blood and made knots in her stomach. She can’t breathe through her nose, her heart was too fast in her chest and her head felt like her brain was replaced by metal. 

This can’t be real, she thinks as she opens the faucet and splashes cold water to her face. This can’t be real. I’m dreaming. This is another nightmare. There’s no possible way SHE can be here. 

Picking her head up and facing her reflection in the mirror. Water droplets rolled down her face and when she saw HER behind her, looming over her like a monster ready to munch on her bones, Scout screamed. 

She spins around to face her but she was gone. But a feeling of death and dread that follows her was in the room. Scout’s skin crawls as she tried to count. 

One, thirty-two, two, thirty-one, three, thirty, four, twenty nine, five, twenty eight— 

A voice came from the shadows in the corner of the room, a whispers from those same shadows that hold memories that had been pushed down are reaching towards her, yearning to be used and to cause torment like they’re supposed to be. Those sounds were louder like a heartbeat raising with anxieties of the past. All of these feelings are old, ancient even, she’s been in these feelings before. She’s been in this situation before, being scared for her life while people are waiting outside, being terrorized into obedience as she held her own hand. 

Hands sat on her shoulder and she was leaning down to whisper in her ear: “You want to go and have fun, don’t you?” And she subconsciously nodded. “Good girl, because I know you do.”

“I know you do…”

There was a knock on the door. Scout sniffles as she cleans her face before asking who it was, trying to not make her voice crack because of emotions she has been trying to swallow. This is too close to home. Or the place that SHE called home but was a hell to Scout.

“It’s me.” It was Sophia. 

Scout was going to cry and she had to force the sobs down, trying to push them down. She’s going to keep her emotions in the small place under her heart and on top of her stomach with the one day she’ll die a painful death because of it. “I’m coming out, wait. I got a bloody nose.”

On the outside she heart Sophia lean against the wall next to the door. “Ohhhh. Okay.” 

Scout wipes her face with the sleeves of her jean jacket and it burns her skin. She opens the sink again and she washes her hands under the water and Scout hisses when she feels a burning sting in her finger. A small droplet rolled down her finger before dropping into the sink. The crimson drop splashes into the remaining water before dancing and spreading.

Washing it away and wrapping her finger with toilet paper before opening the door and stepping outside. She saw her cousin waiting for her, looking as pretty as always. There’s a small feeling of love and softness and wanting to squeeze her into a hug because she knows what Sophia is. She knows that growing up she had to keep up a facade of being the pet of a lonely wealthy man when she was really his own flesh and blood. That she had to keep up the act when people came over to have business with Goldsworth. She was being a performer, a dancer, an actress. That girl had to push aside her own wants and childhood needs to dance away her needs like a french ballet dancer showing the illusion of beauty and grace but when the things and feet she stands on are painfully aching with cuts and bruises.

“Are you feeling alright? You look pale.” Sophia said with innocence in her eyes. How was it possible that she can be so nice and sweet when all of the darkness crawl behind the walls like spiders?

Scout showed her bleeding finger to her. “I cut myself when I had the champagne glass in my hand. That’s why I dropped it,” she lies. And out of the corner of her eye she sees the spider crawl into the shadow to spin a web that says:

YOU DESERVE TO HAVE SOMEONE BE KIND TO YOU

She swallows as her hands ache and feels cold before realizing that she has to be at a party with HER.

***

They both head back to the party and they happened to bump into Night, who was standing around with his flask in his hand. He had a look that said that he was ready to be neglected or being alone during his brother’s party. Maybe he really did want to come and had the hope that it would be like old times when they were children and would whisper to each other with all the trust of the world like brothers do.

He looked lonely.

“Hey, Uncle Nick,” Sophia said with the hope to keep him company.

He looked up to see his two identical nieces, if he didn’t know any better he would think that they were twin sisters. Two sisters that were born to be different on their own but tight knit with each other. Night was like that with Ricky growing up but things changed after Jake’s birth-- and death. “Hey, kids.” He looked down on Scout’s hand to see it cut and red with blood. “Are you okay?”

Scout shrugged. “Yeah, just cut myself with, uh, the-the champagne glass,” she managed to stutter out nervously.

Unsure on what to do, he looked over at her cousin before opening his mouth, closing it before opening his mouth to actually ask a question instead of looking like a dying fish. “Do you need something?”

She shook her head and was about to ask what he meant when Night put his hand in the pocket of his trousers and pulled out a small piece of paper and hands it to her. She took it and saw that it was a Halloween band-aid. 

She looked up at him, confused but amused and thankful. “Why do you have Halloween band-aids in your pocket?” 

Night shrugged and took a sip of his flask. “Habit,” he answered shortly but sweetly. There was another reason that was bouncing in his mouth because he opened his mouth. “Your father always got hurt as a child,” he said to Sophia. “He always had a scratch or scabbed knee. He would cry and cry, saying that it hurt.” He smiled at the memories. “And like the big brother I was I had to make him feel better.” 

“You’re older than my father?” Sophia asks with shiny eyes. 

He nods. “By a solid minute.” Night took another swing at the flask and he felt it’s content inside reducing. “Best goddamn minute of my life.” And he heard Scout laugh as she puts on the orange band-aid that was covered with pumpkins and bats and skulls. 

The next person to ask was Sophia: “Why don’t you join the party with everyone else?”

And he answered the best way he could— “I don’t think your father cares for me.”

A silence sits in the space in between the three. There was pain and secrets swirling in the space like some evil concoction in a witch’s cauldron. 

“I do.”

Nick looked up to see Sophia looking at him with the humanity of a nurse as the sympathy of a nun. She was so nice and naive but her heart was in the right place to love everyone despite the darkness in their soul or how much blood they have on their blood— she will not hesitate to love that person with understandment. 

Scout then adds: “So do I. You don’t seem like someone that I should hate.” She said as she waved the finger she had wrapped in the bandaid. 

He smiled at the twins and he feels like he should ruffle their hair like a coach at baseball practice but he didn’t think either of them would want that. “Thank you, for saying that.”

And he has that pride that he imagined a father would have to his child. But somehow, he was the child and the pride he feels is the one he wanted as a child that his father never gave. 

***

If you think that the tension in the house was bad before, it just got worse. For starters, not everyone knows these two women, they looked at each other and slowly began to come close with everyone like screws to a magnet. 

Ryan, however, knew who one of the women was. He knew Freddy Harknell because he has recently been aware that she goes to Scout’s school. Not as a student, no, as a teacher. A substitute teacher. She was the teacher he and Shane had to meet to pick up Scout because of the weed incident. She escorted them to the principals to talk about it. But to their (mostly Ryan’s) surprise, Mr. Harknell believed that Scout was innocent. That’s a first, he thought. 

“Does anyone actually know these people?” Legs said with his pessimism personality coming out. 

Ryan croaks out: “I do. Well, we do.”

“We do?” Shane asked, genuine confusion being shown with knitted eyebrows.

He looked up at him. “She was the teacher that defended Scout because of… you know…” Ryan made a vague hand motion was supposed to be a blunt. 

It took Shane a few seconds to realize what he meant. “Oohhhhh, That was her? She doesn’t look the same as last time.”

A voice came from behind them that made all of them jump. “Because I let down my hair.” she said. Everyone turned around to see the same woman they were talking shit about. Okay, not real shit but it was whispering about her that may be mean or not. Who knows? Not them definitely. Take it or leave it when grown adults act like petty teenagers. “What? Do I look that different?” she asked as she put a hand in her hair, the cloud bending a bit because of the force of her hand on it. She was so pretty, pretty like a star straight out from the sky. A puffy bang lands over her left eye and her skin tight green dress was modest but somehow elegant with her leather jacket and her golden heels made her look taller than she was. “Hello, Mr. Bergara,” she said to Ryan. “Hello, Mr. Madej.” she ads to Shane.

They both gave her an awkward wave as Legs and Banjo look at each other with an arch eyebrow. “You know her?” they said in unison.

Shane nods. “Just her. She works at Scout’s school.” He felt himself blush with embarrassment from his cousins. An art thief and an ex-mobster raising an eyebrow at the fact that you’re lowkey scared of a substitute teacher makes him feel smaller than his actual height.

The stranger nods. “I’m Freddy Harknell,” she said with a smile that was less brilliant than the other woman but she was… nice. Too nice.

They don’t like her.

She shook Banjo’s and Legs’ hand before saying: “How’s Scout? After the whole… incident?”

“She’s fine,” the pair of terrible parents said simultaneously.

The rest of the family doesn’t know, maybe it was fear or being ashamed. Either is a terrifying idea because of what it could lead. Could it lead to Shane being like his brother? Being ashamed of his family and how he tried to be someone else so he won’t be caught up with the problems they have? So he won’t be connected to his art thief and ex-mobster of his cousins and a weird internet sensation that sounds like fucking porn actor of his brother? Or maybe it could lead Ryan into being terrified of his family tree and that fear will turn into anger and spite and greed and the violence that is on a tightrope, ready to fall into his motivations? Is it the fact that he’s scared that his family would be seen as a bas seed and that no one should interact with them? Was it the fear of being alone together with family?

 

The stranger, Freddy, raised an eyebrow. “I see. Okay. Well, Mr. Madej and Mr. Bergara, I wasn’t aware that your family have… striking similarities. And that they are involved with my sister.”

“SISTER?” everyone gasped.

Well that was an unexpected turn of events. 

Freddy crosses her arms over her chest and smiles even with those serious yet kind eyes. An anxiety raises in all of them, as if they were connected by a string that pulled the lever that pulls all of their anxieties back. Dread and fear but also a hate that was strange because it wasn’t their. It’s not their responsibility to hate someone when they don’t know them, it’s not their will or have that type of anger in them. Especially towards a stranger. But something felt wrong. Something is wrong. 

***

Francesca pulled Tinsley into a hug as she said, “It’s good to see you! I heard rumors that you were dead, but didn’t believe it because you can’t die! You'll die when you like.”

Tinsley was very aware that most of the world thinks that he’s dead, he saw on the news and the newspaper for a solid week. He had been followed the news since his “disappearance” and how he had vanished without a trace as if he had been swallowed by the Earth itself. But here he was, alive and healthy and with the person he loved the most. 

He watched the news as many people mourned his “death” at his funeral. He watched his very few family members and colleagues coming to the funeral. Tinsley watched the face of his old boss, LT. Habersberger, cry tears that he knew damn well were real. He watched people put flowers on his “grave” and throw them into the ground alongside the coffin. 

He watched his own brother standing there after all of the people, having to stand in front of his tombstone that was littered with sweet gifts for a hoax. O.C looked like a wet cat with the rain falling down on him, he didn’t even have an umbrella. There was look on his brother’s face that said that he didn’t believe it. Not in a “I can’t believe you’re dead” kind of way; but in a “I know something is up”. Oscar was always smarter than Charles. 

Tinsley hugged her back and they stood there before she pulled away. His relationship with her was slightly more like those people you hang out because they’re friends with your friends but they’re actually nice but you still feel like strangers. 

She smiled. “How’s everything, darling? How are you enjoying sitting in the lap of luxury… literally!” Francesca winked and he knew what she meant which caused him to blush up to his ears. 

He cleared his throat. “It’s fine. I really didn’t care about the money— even if it’s all nice.”

Francesca hums and nods. “You know, I never figured that Ricky was one to settle down with just one person. I mean, look at Sophia’s mother. We all know how that turned out.”

A wave on confusion splashed him in the face. “Wuh-What do you mean?” Something gathered in the bottom of his stomach that made his heart tight. 

Her face showed concern. “Ohhhh. So you really don’t know?” Charles shook his head. “Oh well! It’s none of my business to tell you that.” Beat. “Even if it kinda is.” 

Tinsley felt his heart drop a bit and this was the moment where he could feel her move away, ready to join the party but he stopped her by grabbing her arm. “Wait. What do you mean?”

Many emotions flashed through her face so fast that it look like one of those picture book where you flip the page back and forth to show motion. Confusion, a tang of anger, annoyance, spite, and then agreement with something solid shimmering behind her eyes like a diamond in the dark. Her face is an expensive cocktail of how complex humans can be. 

Her eyes were dark with something that made his skin warm up with nervousness. Charles knows that she was a holder of secrets and intimate desires. She was the Devil— she knows all of the darkness that are inside of you, she makes you sweat your fears and desires. 

“Well… I know this: Lets just say that somebody told that me that the first wife is never the favorite.” she says with dark blue eyes. “And the second one is least favorite and so on and forth until you hit the fifth.” 

Blood curled under his skin as a ball of ice dropped into his stomach, making his skin too tight. Too tight for comfort. Too tight that he hated the feeling of the sweat the gathered under his skin. Sickness overwhelmed him as a sense of paranoia drowned. Questions nailed themselves into his brain cells as he tried to fight it off. But he can’t because now he know that this was real. He knows that the sense of dread he has been having the moment he stepped foot into this house was now real; a fact. 

That the cold that runs down the hall even with the windows closed. The creaking of the walls and floor board when there’s only three people living in the house and the maids only come in a certain time. The feeling that someone walked past you when he was just alone downstairs. There’s something in this home that made the ghost of them had made themselves strangers in their own home because they can never return to the discomfortable luxury that this damn house bleeds. Because this is the last thing they see. 

Francesca continued to whisper, she put her hand to cover her mouth so she can whisper even more with privacy: “I heard… I heard that you’re scared of your boyfriend, aren’t you?” 

He wasn’t even aware that he nodded, maybe because he was too scared that he realized the truth. Tinsley nods, the corner of his eyes blurry and foggy so he can’t see her face. 

But her smile was audible. “I know you are…”

***

Banjo sitting down as he drinks his champagne. He feels his skin go hot when Ricky walked back into the room, he was both relieved and nervous because he wants to stand up and hold his hand and do so many things. Ricky could ask him to something stupid and he will do it in a heartbeat. He will not hesitate to do anything he please just for the approval and with the hope that he will look at him and maybe smile. Because that’s all he wants. 

“How’s everyone?” the rich man asked as he sat down across him. Everyone had sat down on the couch as they waited for the dinner that they know will be ready soon. 

Legs was squished in between Banjo and Shane, which caused a strange effect that looked like someone copy and pasted their faces next to each other but there was glitch and they look a bit different but have an identical base. Freddy was sitting next to Ryan because (he trusts her somehow, why? Who knows!) there wasn’t enough space on the other couch so they got stuck on the love seat. 

“We’re fine,” Ryan answers, he was the only one that answered because everyone didn’t trust the woman next to him and that was the biggest elephant in the room at the moment. Like most family members they just had to look at each other and with small facial movements they were telepathically talking shit. 

Everyone, especially Banjo, watched as Ricky sat on the arm of the couch on the side of Freddy. Instead of Ryan. And they felt a small tension gather. For fuck’s sakes, they were sitting in a pool of tension that almost hit their neck. Ricky put a hand on her shoulder and it was like a slap to the face to the family. 

“I heard that Freddy here works at Scout’s school,” he asked. No one moved their head but they eyes dart to either Shane or Ryan because… fuck. 

With everyone staring at them, they both were trying to silently agree about who’s going to explain the fact that the child they have in their care was suspected for being in possession of drugs because of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Fuck. 

Shane swallows the bubbling alcohol that he was holding in his mouth and stopped his mid-swallow when they had mentioned her. Okay so he’s doing this. “Um,” he stops himself to finish swallowing. He cleared his throat, “She was… she was someone the school suspected of being a mule that brings in, uh… weed into the school.” 

There was a silence before Legs tried to stifle a snort, he pressed the back of his hand onto his mouth before waving his hand to dismiss his own laughing. When he laughs he looks like Shane, the corner of his eyes scrunching up as the blood full of glee and joy spreads across his face like a blush, but his laugh was slightly darker with age and bitterness that had gathered in his throat over the years. 

“I’m so, so sorry but—“ Legs manages to say through his chuckling. “But… you honestly think that she’s dumb enough to be a mule? A MULE? God, Alex, it seems that you truly don’t know your own kid.” He said that with a smile as he takes a sip of his drink. 

Heat goes to Shane’s ears a little bit, maybe because of his embarrassment or his nickname being used in what he takes as a condescending tone about his family. If he can call it that. 

But he managed to keep his cool to say: “And how can you say that when you barely see her?”

The oldest of his family shrugged. “Because I’m her uncle, I have a certain privilege that you as a father figure you can’t have when it has to do with secrets. And besides, Scout strikes me as the one that makes the blunts not passing them around.”

Somehow that made sense. “I guess you’re right, but many people still suspended that it was her because of her behavior in past occasions.”

Then Freddy spoke up for the first time after being the reason of the tension. “Many teachers blamed her because they don’t like her,” she spilled the truth as she took a gulp of her drink. 

A pin drop somewhere in the room as Shane and Ryan’s eyes widen. “I’m sorry what?” “What?” They said at the same time, not surprised by the fact that people don’t like her but that a teacher would say that to their faces. 

“I would say why but…” her eyes goes to the rest of the family. “We’ll discuss this in a parent-teacher conference.”

“Oh shit,” Ricky says, talking about an different topic. “Where’s my brother?” 

Legs raises an eyebrow at what he said. “What’s with you suddenly being worried about him?”

The assassin scoffed lightly. “Hm? I’m not worried. I’m just asking because he’s an anti-social psychopath ready to explode and he knows it.”

The sound of dress shoes on the marble floor was heard before a voice came from the doorway that connects the living room to the hall. “Takes one to know one, asshole,” Night said standing there. 

And if you didn’t know that they both have the ability to kill each other in a heartbeat, it would have been funny because of how childish these two are. But their childish actions come from the roots of their past. 

But it was still hilarious. All they needed is one of them is sticking their tongue out and it would be like Christmas when they were children. 

Ricky rolled his eyes. “I should have known that the smell of cigarettes said that you were coming close.” 

“You never said that to Mama, though,” he hissed back halfhearted. Which made it worse. 

The assassin’s grip on the glass flute tightens as he was ready to throw it at his brother— but that would be a waste of champagne. Spilled alcohol is too good for Nick, he thinks as he decided to take a hard and long sip. He swallowed before his brother asked the next question: 

“Have you talked to Mama?” 

Ricky shook his head. “I was. Later. When we opened the presents.”

Nick name a soft sound that everyone knew was supposed to be mocking. “Good.”

Then Ricky made the same sound but louder and bolder with no shame in mocking and being rude. “Good.”

The tension that was there before grew even thicker with this one piled on top. It hisses and sizzles the same way you add baking soda to vinegar and it was ready to explode any second. Any second it this whole house will go up in flames because of it. Because of family that could never shape up and agree and have a fucking good time. 

 

Freddy’s eyes followed their exchanges of words, their limited conversations— if you can call it a conversation. Freddy knows what’s it like to hate your sibling, she knows it so well that it is part of her. It is in her bones, it’s what raises her up in the morning, it is half of the blood in her veins. It is part of her being— and she’s miserable because of it. 

She goes to sleep mad and wakes up with a migraine as the chains of hate ties her up to the source of that hate. That’s why she’s her. That’s why she agreed to be at this party with (almost) total strangers. Because someone needs to know. 

A liar needs someone truthful to exist next to them. 

“Are… are you two brothers?” she asked. 

And everyone groaned and covered their face as if waiting for a fight to break out. Or even worse, an argument that no one wanted to experience. 

They both nodded. “It is the greatest displeasure of my life,” Ricky said. 

“So is mine,” Nick agrees. “It is a burden to know that my own blood is a—“ He was interrupted when someone from the doorway sneezed and then two pair of footsteps scurrying back and hushed whispered came. 

Everyone knew who it was, they were the only two that weren’t with the family. The only two who will trust each other in this whole family, because who would trust their family if it was composed of two ex-mobsters, an assassin/serial killer, a detective who faked his death, and somewhat ambitious and stubborn ghost hunters. If someone appears dead one day then everyone is a suspect. 

Shane and Ryan sigh alongside Ricky who also rubs the side of his nose. Parenting is hard, you can see it on their faces. 

“Sophia, dear, I know you’re there,” Ricky says soothingly. 

“You too, Scout,” Ryan says. “Come out.”

Slowly the two girl came from around the doorway, the two close, shoulder to shoulder. They looked almost guilty, as if caught for sneaking out past bedtime or breaking something. But they didn’t do anything of that sorts. They wouldn’t. 

Sophia’s face looked concerned as she looks around the room, searching for someone. “Dad, have you seen Tinsley?” she asks, her hand going to Scout’s wrist. 

Ricky’s eyebrows knit up and he slowly stands up. He knew something was wrong when he hasn’t been around him for a while, he thought that maybe he went to the bathroom or something of those sorts but he wouldn’t take that long. “No, no I haven’t. I’ll check on him.” 

The doll nods as she and her cousin sit down the spot where Ricky was sitting. Sophia managed to squeeze in while Scout sits on the arm of the couch like he was. 

Ricky walked away after giving his brother a dark and dirty look that showed that this conversation wasn’t over. Not even one bit.


	6. On The Second Day Of Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Past abuse and the brief mentioned of domestic violence.

Tinsley was never really a religious man. He was raised by a catholic mother and what he assumed was an atheist father but he never went to church and never learned the prayers. He never wore a rosary or went to a worship place or anything. He was raised with the idea that there can’t be something or SOMEONE, just one being that controls all. He can’t really believe into that because if you take away many small details about the religion it would sound ludicrous. 

 

But right now, he was praying like a mad man before the world was supposed to end. He was at the desk with his hands together, trying to calm himself down but he couldn’t because all of the panic and fear he had pushed down was rising up to the surface. 

 

He was praying to God, Jesus, any fucking Saint or anything that has power over him for help. All of the chance he has had in the past where he walked out the doors with Sophia to go have a nice time but came back.  _ He was steps away from freedom.  _

 

He had so many times to escape or leave or do anything like that. But why did he stay? Why was he going to stay with a psychopath and his sunshine of a daughter that loves Shakespeare and her violin? All of the money of the world was at his feet if he stands to his side. 

 

But all that money was rotten, poison and dirty because of where it come from. Touching that money would turn his fingers black like the Black Plague, all of the sin that that money has makes him sick. Tinsley has that money in his wallet and he buys small things with it— everything he bought with that money is as dirty as him. 

 

Tinsley was ingesting sin, wearing filth, and breathing the Black Plague.  _ Can it kill him? _ It is not a question but a plead. 

 

When there was a knock on the door he ignored it and continued to pray, trying to tie together any words together that he managed to let out of his mouth. 

 

Fear made it hard to breathe when he heard footsteps coming close to him. It get like when he was a child and his father would beat him the belt, he was too afraid to face him. He was to scared to look at him in the eye to show his terror. 

 

A shiver went down his spine when he felt the before of Ricky’s hand going to his shoulder, the split seconds before humans make contact with each other, that sense of someone coming to touch your skin. The feeling of two sets of atoms touching, the electricity before sparking between. “There you are!” Ricky said with relief in his voice but sounding like something from a nursery story about a monster’s taunting before swallowing you whole. “Why are you up here all cooped up, Tinman?”

 

All of the moisture in his throat vanished, he couldn’t pray or try to explain. He wanted to plead on his knees for mercy, to let him out, because Tinsley was been around him long enough that he know that when Ricky is playing with you-- you’re dead. He plays with people the same way God plays with Her people like boys play with flies. Ripping their wings off and watch them scurry and trying to survive with the one thing that makes them what they are. Tinsley didn’t have to imagine the pain that they felt before dying, he was living it. Breathing the pain and the shock of having some limb cut off. 

 

Ricky’s other hand went to his other shoulder and put his head on top of Tinsley in a loving way, making a face as they both stared at their reflection in the mirror in front of them. Both of them were so different, always loving and holding hands and kissing-- a beautiful act that everyone fell for. 

 

Even Charles himself.

 

How did he allow himself to fall for this man? Was he even in love with him? He was under some type of spell, he knew it. He felt it in his soul that deep down inside of him he could never love a man like this. He was just a puppet, a shield to put up to show and lie that he has a heart when he was really pulling the strings that made Tinsley weak, boneless as he lets himself be used.

 

Tinsley didn’t fall in love with him, he swallowed the lies and became one. 

 

_ You’re scared of your boyfriend… _

 

He agreed with that without a question. 

  
  
  
  


Ricky moved his hands so he was hugging Tinsley’s head as he put his own head on top of his, his strange hair tickling Ricky’s nose and face. He smiled and chuckled into his skull. “What is it?” 

 

And suddenly he felt the shoulders under him shake, shake like a leaf in a hurricane. He was shaking and shivering, Tinsley put his hands on his face as he put his elbows on the table. Tinsley was sobbing and sniffling the same way a toddler who fell off a bike and blood drips from their knees. 

 

Worry made the assassin pull away to stare at the man he was so in love with… break. He was breaking and having a mental meltdown. He was having a crisis as he sits on the desk surrounded by wealth and riches that anyone would envy to have. 

 

Tinsley, a pretty man sitting in the lap of luxury, was breaking. Asking himself who he is and what he is to a madman like Goldsworth. He was something that would cause embarrassment and shame to anyone. If Charles's mother saw him where he was right now she would slap him and call him a “whore” a “man-slut”. That he would be the embarrassment of the family. 

 

But he’s dead. And being used. And he doesn’t know who he is. 

 

“I know how it can be,” Ricky whispered reassuringly. “Being away from family all these years. You miss them. I understand but we have so much to live for. With me. With us.” He then kissed the side of Tinsley’s head. “Come with me downstairs,” he asks nicely. 

 

Charles looks up in the mirror and his vision glitches to see Ricky, a man that he in love and with and terrified of, smiling at him. Half kindly, half evil and dark. He takes in a deep breath as he wipes his tears with the sleeve of his expensive shirt before standing up and letting Ricky pull him away from the safety he had. 

 

_ You’re still scared,  _ a whisper that was placed there said.  _ You’re always scared.  _

 

**

 

“Speaking of which,” Freddy said as she remembered that she didn’t come here alone. “I don’t know where did my sister get to.” 

 

Both and Scout and Sophia look at her, they weren’t there when they got here so they’re kind of strangers (Not to Scout. She knows the two too well) (kind of). “Sister?” Sophia asked, her head tilting like a curious dog, her hair sliding off her shoulder to reveal the pearl earrings that matched with her necklace. 

 

Freddy looked over at Sophia and looked startled as she then looked back at Scout and her eyebrows shot up. “Scout, I didn’t know you had a twin sister!” 

 

The twins shook their heads in sync. “No. We’re cousins,” Sophia said. “Everyone looks like each other because… family.” 

 

The substitute teacher nods, understanding but also not. How was it possible that almost everyone in this family looked like carbon copies of the other? But still managed an individuality that made them different. That’s why at first glance Freddy didn’t think that she and Scout would look almost identical but when they’re standing next to each other they look almost exact. 

 

“You just need long hair to look like her,” Freddy smiles. Then she watches Scout squirm a little bit as her hand goes to her shoulder-length hair. 

 

Glossing over the comment that made her skin crawl with flashbacks when she did have long hair, she asked: “Who’s your sister?” 

 

“Oh,” Freddy roller her eyes but managed to smile. “Francesca Bitch-ass.” She watched all of the color drain from her face, leaving her looking las if she has seen a ghost. It was the pink that filled her cheeks and the tip of her nose that faded away and when it vanished, she looked not herself. Freddy has never seen this young girl scared or even terrified-- and it made her heart drop. “Are you okay?”

 

Her mouth was opened, trying to swallow the truth that was being presented in front of her. Panic danced around in her eyes for a second before Freddy was being pulled away to look over at the sound of hurried heels of expensive heels hitting the marble floor. 

 

It was her sister, she was holding a martini glass and looking as if she already has had another two. When Fran gets drunk, she doesn’t show it but she look calmer and tends to be a harsh flirter (which means she might been mean to you but she’s really flirting because we all know that psychopaths can’t feel anything and drown themselves in alcohol) “I am back and I need help!”

 

Freddy sighs as she covers her face in second-hand shame. She might be the youngest but Francesca can be the irresponsible one. Freddy had to stop her once she tried to open a jar before she threw it out the window. “With?” she asks.

 

A giggle came from the taller woman. “My dress. I think the zipper went down on it own.” Francesca looked around and made a face of realization that said that she was very, very lost and confused. “Can someone help me go to the bathroom and zip me up?” she asked politely with a goofy smile that oozes confidence and trustworthiness. 

 

Sophia spoke up, “I’ll help you, ma’am.” She looked ready to stand up if she wasn’t squished in between Freddy and the arm Scout was sitting on. 

 

“No, don’t worry,” Ryan said as to dismiss her polite comment. “Scout will. She’s standing up anyways.” 

 

Scout’s heart jumped into her throat as it began to beat wildly. She tried to swallow it down but she couldn’t. “But--” she tried to make an excuse but she was shut down when Shane and Ryan gave her a look that said so many things that they would become impossible to say which one was louder than the other. Defeated, she sighs as she stands up and walks over to the one person she was trying to avoid through the whole night. She was walking into a trap if she knew one. 

  
  
  


Francesca finished what was left of her martini and left the cup somewhere around the house (which would be a fun find for any of the maids) as they walked down the hall to the other bathroom. Not the one where Scout was having a whole fucking mental breakdown but one that was far away. Which was foolish of her to do she realized as she opened the bathroom and was pulled into by the arm.

 

The door slamming closed echoed in her ears as her heartbeat was racing and all of the blood has gone to her ears. This was straight out of her nightmares, being stuck in a small space with HER, who was the person who made her scared of small spaces in the first places. Everything slowed down inside of her except for her heart. Scout’s hands were shaking and all of her body might as well collapse as she can’t breathe. Claustrophobic flashbacks drown her. 

 

“Check on my zipper, would you, sweet pea?” Francesca asked as she leaned on the sink and exposed her back to her. But she could use it to her advantage to hit her over the head with something hard and heavy. Then again, how would she explain that to her uncle?  _ Oh hey I killed one of your closet friends because reasons I cannot explain yada yada yada.  _

 

So she obeys and saw that Francesca did in fact have her zipper down, it went to a little bit under the back of her bra strap. As she zips it up with shaking fingers SHE spoke:

 

“Like old times, hm?” 

 

Scout couldn’t speak, her heart was tight in her chest and tears are boiling behind her eyes as she remembers all of those years being by her side. To think that she was at HER side all those years without a question asked, always nodding and agreeing and she felt okay. Alright. Fine. 

 

SHE continued to speak as Scout’s face aches with the emotions she’s been hiding for years, her skin was the thin barrier that was holding them back and her together. She was built on bottle up emotions— her bones were memories that hold up her being, her blood was the lessons she’s learned over the years, her lungs held the places she’s been, and her heart stores the people she has loved. 

 

“You’re still the same girl that I raised, Mira,” Francesca said while fixing her hair but looking at her off the mirror. 

 

Something snapped inside of Scout, anger that have been festering inside of her made her eyes suddenly very wet and hard. It was the name that she said. “Don’t call me that!” she corrected her rather harshly. 

 

Darkness swirled underneath Francesca’s eyes, anger that has been cooped up in her and sass that is as bitter as salt and sour as limes. Scout gulps immediately when she saw her face and her stomach turned cold with nervousness and anxiety. But she continued talking, too high on the adrenaline to stop her mouth from rambling. “I-I… I no longer go by that name. I-I stopped using it buh-because of you!”

 

The next few seconds were used for the tension to build and her heart was loud in her ears as Francesca turned around to face her and tower over her like the very shadow she was hiding from. Every step SHE took forward, Scout took a step back until she was up against the wall with Francesca making her anger and wickedness known. 

 

“Don’t you ever forget,” the Devil said with venom dripping from her mouth, “who gave you that scar. Or have you already forgotten?” SHE mocked her with a smile that made her shake. “You owe  _ everything  _ to me.” 

 

With shallow breaths she answered back: “I duh-don’t owe you anything.” Her words led her have HER hand around her throat as she was pinned against the wall even harder. 

 

Francesca squeezes her throat to show that she hasn’t lost the fear of hitting her after all these years of not seeing each other. “I will not hesitate to snap your neck, Mira. I’ll just tell your  _ dear old uncle  _ that once a thief always a thief.” All of the blood drains from her face as she tried to breathe. “Oh? Didn’t you tell them? That you’re not the victim after all.” 

 

“You… made me do it,” coughed up Scout as her hands go to HER hands to try to pull away from her but she knows it’s going to leave nail marks and blood being shed. 

 

The Devil smiled, her perfect white teeth looking like their might erupt fangs any minute to tear her throat out. “Oh… you honestly think I did? Mira, it seems that being away from me too for so long has made you forget…” she leans in to whisper: “ _ you still belong to me.”  _

 

A single tear rolled down her face as she remembered what she had to do. Scout and Sophia were once very alike, almost identical: they both served someone without any questions asked, with their heads down and a smile on their faces when asked to, standing next to them and asked to look pretty. But the only difference was that Sophia was an actress-- she played the role once in a while and knew her self worth because she wasn’t shunned into that role. But Scout was shunned into it. This wasn’t act. 

 

The grip around her throat loosened but her hand was still was held there. Francesca’s other hand went to Scout’s face to wipe the tear in a way that would be kind and motherly but knowing the consequences what will happen if she ever flinches away made it feel small. “Just remember…” the Devil hushed sweetly, “ **_you deserve someone to be kind to you._ ** ” 

 

When she was finally let go, Scout was coughing and had to take in big gulps of air to calm herself. She was just a few inches away from the Devil’s claws, SHE could have so much to her but the worst thing was that she reminded her of what was her worth. That she didn’t deserve being saved or safe, she doesn’t deserve the happiness that she has found, she doesn’t deserve  _ anything _ . 

 

“I would advise you to listen to me,” SHE whispered. “Because…  _ I heard that you want to help me. _ ” 

 

Scout’s heart skipped a beat before dropping into her shoes and turning into a flame of acid boiling. Ice ran into her blood and like a darkness spreading into her soul made her feel like drowning. 

 

She continued talking: “Because you want to protect your family… don’t you?” 

 

Three nods with eyes on the floor was common-- no, it was expected from her. The way she was standing fell into her limbs, memories of her being like this since childhood danced in the shadow of she shoes she was staring at. All of the thoughts and self guilt she has pushed down into the attic has began to flood and the water was slowly reaching her neck. 

 

When the Devil smiles, it makes the room colder and makes you feel like you’re boiling from the inside out. SHE pats her face and head. “Good girl.” 

 

And the water reached over her head and she drowns. 

 

***

 

It isn’t a surprise when Joshua told her to turn around so he could braid her hair. Sophia knew that he was taking cosmetology at school and she trusted him with her hair. But she couldn’t help but feel the tension that was coming off of his hands as he was braiding her hair. Every time he would twitch or shake or fidget she could feel it. Sophia has been aware that her hair has been growing long enough for her just to dye it blonde and she would pass as Rapunzel.

 

She remembered reading the book when she was younger, her father would sit down next to her on her bed after work and would brush her hair as she read out loud. Once in awhile Ricky would correct her when she pronounced words wrong and would held her finish a word that was too big for a five year old to say. 

 

It was fond memory she has that will always be with her as she holds it close to her heart like all the jewelry she has. But something happened, a shift between their relationship. Yes, Sophia knew that her father was doing bad but had accepted it when she was eight years old. She remembered her father sitting her down and telling her that she had to play ‘Pretend’ when people come over. To be quiet and not talk and smile when asked. It was strange for her to wrap her head around at the time but she slowly made up this… persona. A person that would be here for that hour and half when a stranger would come to house and stay in her father’s office for business, she would just stand next to him with her nicest clothing. 

 

That shift grew even more after she turned ten. She never got an explanation but she remembered going upstairs to her father’s room and slowly opening the door to see him lying in bed, curled up with the phone in his hand as he cried. He cried and cried and sobbed. Anger and grief shook his shoulders as he breathes in. Sophia didn’t want to ask; so she turned back around and never spoke of it. 

 

Now she wonders: did it have to do with her mother? 

 

“Joshua?” she said. She was the only one that said his full name all the time. 

 

He hummed back to show that he heard her say his name. Apparently he was so engrossed in her hair but she very much doubts that but continued. 

 

“How are things with your mother?” When she asked that she could feeling Josh’s hands freezing in her hair, it took him three seconds to recollect himself but he continued to do what he was doing. 

 

He swallowed a stone in his throat. “She’s fine. She’s got a couple of more years to go before she can get out, but then she got parole.” 

 

Sophia moves her head as if she was going to face him. “You could ask my father to bail her out. He could talk to the judge and settle on…”

 

She stopped talking when Joshua shook his head. “Sophia, it’s fine. She did the crime now she gotta do the time.” 

 

There was a somewhat comfortable silence in between them. Two of the kindest people being kind to each other is what heaven might look like. The tenderness in their heart would make the coldest hearts warm up. Sunshine from Josh’s smile and warmth coming from her being. 

 

“Joshua,” she asked again like a child would ask and continue the conversation when it has been long gone. 

 

Another nice hum. 

 

Now it was her turn to swallow a stone in her throat. “How does it feel to have a mother?” 

 

He almost immediately stopped doing her hair before turning her around for her to face him. There was a look of concern and pity that fell upon his face which made his eyebrows curved up against each other. But finally a look of understanding made its way up his face like vines going up a tree. He smiled a bit, sadness in the corner of his mouth and eyes. “It’s like having… an angel. A mother is someone that will do anything to protect you. She will pour so much energy into someone and not expect anything in return.” 

 

She could see the tears welding in his eyes. She knew that his mother was the only family he had left and now she was gone. Sophia held his hands in her lap, “You’re not alone. You have us, you have me. You’re family, Joshua.”

 

He smiled as he pushed back the tears and cleaned his face with the sleeve of his jacket. “I… Thank you.” He let the mood and moment they were having settle in his bones before remembering what he was going on about. “I know you don’t have a mother.” Josh felt her hands squeeze down on his own. 

 

Sophia smiles but it didn’t fit her eyes. “Of course I do. I’m pretty sure that to have make a human you have to have two people.” 

 

The teenage boy shook his head and her smiled faded away. She was never good at lying— pretending but not lying. It hurts her heart to even to be not honest at least for one second. So she was being honest right now, “I don’t even know how she looked like…” Sophia whispered. “Is that strange? For me to not know how my mother looks like?” 

 

The boy shook his head. 

 

Maybe she does know how she looks likes. Maybe she sees her everytime she brushes her hair in the mirror in the morning; maybe she sees her everytime she plays the violin; maybe she sees her everytime she smiles and is kind. Maybe she sees her. But doesn’t know her. 

 

Josh then leans in close to whisper: “Do you think he’s hiding her from you?” 

 

As she would have gasped if she knew better. Because honestly that would make sense. He never mentions her, there’s no photos of her around the house, it’s as if she just vanished from the face of the earth. But that’s not possible. There has to be a trace of her somewhere. 

 

She got an idea. A bad an idea but an idea nonetheless. Now it was a bad idea because it means that she’s going to have to lie and sneak around. 

 

“I have an idea,” she confirmed it by saying it. “But we need Scout.” 


	7. Two (or more) Complicated Couples

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We need to communicate to co-exist and to co-exist is to talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: emotional abuse and thoughts of violence.
> 
> Note: The name of the painters are made up.

Banjo’s skin and blood lit up with a fire that he has been holding for so long. Jealousy made his grip on the champagne flute slowly increase, he could have smashed it but he puts it down and pretended to not look at the doorway every few seconds with the hope that Ricky will appear. 

 

A fantasy rise from his imagination and played like a movie: Ricky coming back, covered in blood and telling everyone that he has killed Tinsley before pulling Banjo close by his tie and kisses him. 

 

Heat grew in the skin of his face as he takes in a deep breath to calm himself. He was always jealous of Tinsley,  _ always.  _ Ever since they were children, he was significantly better than Banjo. For every trophy he won Tinsley had win four. An award became a symbol for achievements and proof that he  _ is  _ better than him. But now, Tinsley has a prize that Banjo would kill for. And that envy was the thing that drove him and motivates him everyday to be  _ better.  _

 

“Careful there, Ben,” Legs warns. “You might pop a vein out.” He sat his legs crossed across from him and he downs his third flute of champagne. It wasn’t really a surprise that the man can hold his liquor, he owns freaking  _ bar. _ After the whole running-away-from-the-mob thing he was able to drink more and raise his knowledge in what to drink. 

 

He gave him a dark look before managing to smile at his cousin. “Great, it will put me out of my misery.” 

 

Legs chuckles; his eyes were half-crescent moons with the crinkles in the corners and there was a light air-like tone in his voice. And everyone felt a shot of ‘oh-shit’ because, great… another drunk person at the party-- and it’s barely 5 pm. “Cmon, you need to loosen up a bit,” Legs says as he stands up and puts the down the flute. “Remember when you used to dance? You were such a good dancer when you were little. Your momma and my mama  _ loved it. _ ” He was walking around as he picked up the flute of champagne that was once Banjo’s and both Ryan and Shane rolled their eyes when he began to move the legs he was so famously named for in a dancing motion towards the radio that was by the doorway. 

 

And everyone giggled because he was moving his hips side to side as raises the top of the vinyl player and puts the needle on top of the disc. A soft 70s-like tune filled the air as the disc played. Legs danced around with the champagne in his hand before taking a sip and spinning around. 

 

_ Children behave… that’s what they say when we’re together... _

 

Legs spins around once again before slapping his hand onto Banjo’s shoulder and tugging on his shirt to pull him up. “C’mon! Let's dance like we used to!” He pushed him before pulling to annoy him. 

 

Banjo rolls his eyes but smiled, his foot slowly raising and falling to the beat of the song. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Shane’s head swaying his head side to side and Ryan’s shoulder’s were bouncing up and down alongside the rhythm. Legs giggled, the tip of his nose pink with blush. 

 

After the annoying shoving, Banjo sigh and reluctantly stands up, and before he could say anything Legs pulled him to dance. They danced like they were little kids and were barefooted on the concrete floor of their porch. Them dancing every time they see each other was a tradition that everyone in their family knew. It doesn’t matter if you have two left feet, you’re still expected to dance. 

 

_ Trying to get away into the night, then you put your arms around me and as we tumble to the ground…  _

 

A giggling fit erupts as Logan forced Banjo’s arms around his neck as they dance, awkwardly bumping into each other because of long limbs and same heights. They tripped a little bit before Legs pushed Banjo away whilst laughing. 

 

Nick felt strange, standing by the doorway as the others danced. In all sincerity, he actually doesn’t know how to dance. He never had the ability to listen to rhythm and find it in him. So when Legs flashed him a tipsy smile, he knew what was coming. Night scoffs and shakes his head as the other man  _ shimmied  _ into his direction and grabbed the lapels of his jacket. 

 

“You’re so frown-y, Nick,” he says as pulled a little bit harder and the shorter fell a little bit toward before pulled back. 

 

Legs sighs and looked like he might give up until he slapped his hands on Nick’s wrist like a pair of handcuffs and pulled him into the middle of the living room that they made into a dance floor. With a groan but a smile he felt Legs’ arms on his shoulder as he pulled him close to whisper into his ear: “why can’t you cheer up once in a while?”

 

And it shouldn’t have offended him, but it did. It offended him so much that his heart skipped a beat as he was pulled into a dancing style similar to jazz swing dancing, the Charleston and hormonal-teens-slow-dancing. 

 

_ Look at the way we gotta hide what we’re doing, cause what would they say if they ever knew…  _

 

Nick pulled his face away as his blood went to his ears as a response to been hit a low blow in the wall he has built up. Then he stares at Legs’ stupidly weird but charming face. Eyes were still crescent moons with lines in the corners and pink still dusts in his nose but also some pink was littered across his cheekbones. Night scoffs as he excused this as his friend just being drunk. “You’re drunk,” he states. 

 

It was the other’s turn to scoff and suddenly, his face looked normal. Not as in his nose was all of the sudden smaller but the pink slowly faded away and his sharp eyes that showed tipsy-ness suddenly told him otherwise. And it didn’t make sense because Nick has known that face for so long that he can carve it on stone marble just by memory. Night’s eyebrows knit together before feeling his brain click everything together. The song slips into the small music break, Legs smiled as he puts his head on Night’s wide, broad shoulders. He whispers into his ear, low enough for only Night could hear him over the loud music: “Hey.”

 

They keep on dancing, and it was almost like a rival-like tango, but there was no hate just suspicion. “You bastard,” he whispers as they both continued dancing, hands together and hips slowly moving with the rhythm. Night didn’t mean it in mean spirit but one of being outsmarted. Honestly, what did Nick expect? Logan was a smart man with a charming air around him that would make anyone believe any lie that he could say; he plays his cards very well as he always gets the upper hand.  _ He escaped the mob  _ for Christ’s sakes! Legs can pretend to be a doctor and you’ll believe him. So, he was an actor with a believable undertone.

 

“So?” he asks. “Since when does my acting become something bad? I’m simply acting to entertain and break the tension.” Legs arm lands on the shorter man’s lower back as they sway back and forth. 

 

And Nick lets it go, because he was right. The tension in this room would make anyone uncomfortable if they weren't family. A typical christmas party-- with an assassin, a detective that faked his death, two ghost hunters, an art thief, and two ex-mobsters. Gotta love this family. 

 

_ I think we’re alone now…. _

 

_ There doesn't seem to be anyone around…  _

 

_ I think we’re alone now…  _

 

***

 

It would have hurt less if there was a wall or a floor. Like when you live in an apartment building and you can hear the soft vibrations through the building. The faint sound of the lyrics were lost in translation, making it impossible to know what the words are. It would have hurt more if there was a barrier that would cut her off, that she was alone in a room while the rest don’t know— that would have hurt less. 

 

But it’s just so  _ painful.  _ She was alone with HER. And maybe the reason why it’s so painful it’s because there was no barrier, there was just air behind the door and the space replaced what she wished was there. To be saved or to run or just to vanish into thin air. She wished that was true. 

 

HER hands were playing in her hair, familiar long nails playing alongside her scalp like a soft threat, one where she might pull her hair and push her into the sick and drown her, or smash her head in with the lie that she was trying to pickpocket her watch. Sour metallic feelings enter her nose at the thought of it. The quiet threats and promises of pain make her think of all she did for HER. 

 

God, she was so young. Scout basically let herself be used like a puppet by this wicked woman. Francesca has something in her soul, one where she can smell the fears and insecurities of people the same way a vampire can smell their meal’s blood type. Francesca will open you up and pull those insecurities and dangel them in front of you before sewing you back up. God, she knew everything in Scout’s body and mind that she call force her to just stop breathing.

 

And Scout will.

 

“I miss your long hair, Mira,” Francesca says as she continues to pet her hair. 

 

Tears weld into her eyes at the name. That wasn’t her name, God no, but it was a nickname. The one before ‘Scout’, the one that showed she was nothing more but a pet to her. One that forced everyone-- even her-- to look at her.  _ Mira… Look at her…  _

 

Scout could still feel the way everyone looked at her when she was young, eyes burning into her skin. She swallowed as she remembered the way Francesca told her how to dress and that her favorite thing was her hair. She wanted it always in a long braid that went down her back as a way to pet or pull back like a leash. 

 

“Why did you ever cut it, my dear? Hmm?” The tone in which she spoke forced Scout to open her mouth and tell the truth. Those words were smoke that formed into claws that opened her mouth and pulled the truth out of her. 

 

Like the hands in  _ The Little Mermaid _ , where Ursula pulled Ariel’s voice away from her throat. “Because I-I was fre-free…” she stuttered as she wanted to close her mouth. 

 

Francesca clicks her tongue in pity. “Oh, Mira, you have seem to forgotten that will never be free.” Her hand wrapped around Scout’s jaw and force her to look at herself in the mirror. Her thumb going over the faint scar that she left there so many years ago. “ _ This  _ means you’re still mine.”

 

Trying to move away makes it look like she was shaking her head. “N-No…”

 

A smile stretched across her face like a thick red line on a painting. The Woman forced her face still, “After all I did for you? I fed you, I kept you clean, I brushed your hair, I gave you ever you might want. So listen to me if you want this  _ family-“  _ the word seemed to have burned her tongue “-of yours safe. Got it,  _ Mira _ ?” 

 

Tears roll down her face and her heart stopped in her chest. She could still feel the vibrations from the music that was down the hall, inviting but teasing her to join. Scout took in a gasping breath before nodding. But she knew that it wouldn’t please Francesca one bit. She wanted words, she wanted her words to show her loyalty. “Wha… What do you want m-me to do?”

 

Another wide smile bleed across the Devil’s face. 

 

_ I think we’re alone now… _

 

***

 

Tinsley’s eyes land on the telephone that was on his nightstand, everything in his body told him to reach over and call the police before locking himself in the closet. He would roll himself in a small ball, scared and waiting for the authorities to take away the tiger. But he can’t. A string pulled his hand back and made his body ache. God, he wants to run. 

 

But he wants to stay.

 

He feels Ricky’s hand go up his spine— a memory. One where hands grip tightly but with the care of loving. One where sounds escape and are begging to spill and echo into the house. One where Tinsley’s body didn’t just belong to himself but to the silk of the bedsheets. One where he stays. 

 

Waking up in the real world is never nice, especially when fear is pulsing in his chest. Tinsley stands up, walks away from the telephone and sees Ricky standing by the window. Open as a cool-hot breeze curls itself inside of the house, making itself home. He watches Ricky’s body, small and short but wide and bragging strength and power. Heat curls on the ex-detective’s tongue as waked next to him and smells the smoke of a cigarette before seeing it in his hand. 

 

He was shaking, yes— he was terrified of the tiger but the sense of trying to save him overcame him just a bit to pet him. Tinsley feels his hand on the tiger’s shoulder. But he almost pulled away when that very beast spoke:

 

“I know how it feels to miss someone around this time of the year,” he vaguely confessed. Ricky lets the smoke curled around his words, looking down at the ground below the window. 

 

The taller looked away, heat curling in his chest feeling embarrassed for even just looking at him. Deja vu struck him hard where the heat was purring. “Your mother?” he asks, feeling like he has had this conversation before. 

 

Ricky nods. “Didn’t I tell you the story about how I grew up?” 

 

And Tinsley feels a memory that felt so far away, so distant that he wasn’t sure that it was his to begin with. “No,” he confessed the truth even with everything in him told him to lie. He was close to the window so Ricky could push him out or maybe he’ll just jump out to put his pain to an end. 

 

Ricky smiled, the cigarette close to his mouth and his hand and the smoke almost hides those teeth that shine like a sharp promise. “I was a dirt-poor kid, Nick and I slept in the same bed for three years until we grew out of it.” He smiled at the reminiscencing challenge he went through. “He slept on the floor while I slept on the bed that wasn’t meant for a teenager. And my mom?” he asked half-rhetorically. “She slept on the couch. Do you know what that does to you? Seeing your mother, tired and bruised on the couch. No one lived comfortable, god knows that but  _ I slept in a bed. _ ” 

 

He quiets down, seeing all the rage that was threatening to spill like bucket out in the rain, one more drop and it would flood. Ricky finished the cigarette and put it off by rubbing it on the windowsill where the maids have to brush it down and away. This tiger-- no, this man, confessed that he felt guilty because he slept in a too-small bed while his stubborn brother slept on the floor and his mother, a woman that woke up at 4 a.m to get to work, slept on the couch to not get too comfortable in her sleep-- Ricky smiled. “I met my great-grandmother… she was a bitch. You know what she said to my cousin’s kids when they were around six?  _ ‘Those two little girls are a little ugly, don’t you think?’  _ That’s was my great-great grandmother!” Ricky laughed and Tinsley managed to feel himself smile. 

 

Tinsley felt his body slowly move next to him, shoulders almost brushing and feeling his hands shaking in fear but pulling himself together to be by his side. “I hated my dad,” Tinsley says and feels like a weight have been lifted from his shoulders. “He was a cop, sure yeah but— he was a terrible man.” That’s all he felt like saying. 

 

A hand crawls up next to him, a hand that was littered with gold and silver as it falls over his hand, much smaller but Tinsley’s was long and large like the sky while Ricky was a golden platter where Death takes Her drink from. Tinsley feels his hand, almost as if it was muscle memory, hold his hand. A feeling of warmth and sweetness sticks in his chest and heart, like gum slowly melting and sticking on everything during the summer. 

 

He feels his whole body screaming to get away from him, to run away as fast as he could to save himself. But at this moment, those thoughts didn’t feels real— they felt artificial and planted in his head like rumors spread. He fees Ricky’s hand tighter as they lean in close.  _ Closer and closer, faster and faster, more and more— _

 

Something crashed downstairs which made both of them move away, breaking the trance the ex-detective was under and being returned to a fear that began to blossom once again. 

 

Still holding his hand, this time Ricky’s grip was tighter and harsher, he walked him downstairs. He could see how the assassin’s eyes harden and darkened which made Tinsley’s previous fears come back and sit themselves in his sore chest. 

 

Something was there; but the seeds of fear were blooming. 

 

***

 

The sound of something expensive crashing on the floor made everyone stop. It was literally a record scratching because the vinyl’s song stopped only half a second after the odds that that was the only spot in the living room that didn’t have carpet. Fuck. 

 

Night and Legs slowly pull away from each other, hands lingering away from the bodies they know for years. Banjo sat himself in the chair far from the group, holding his abdomen as if he might have a heart attack. The ghost hunters look away in shame, looking like children scared of a whooping from their mothers. But if you had a mother like Ricky, may God have mercy. 

 

They heard two pairs of dress shoes not-so-slowly going down the stairs. Clicks against the marble steps echoed, feeling like the scene from  _ Jurassic Park  _ and the cup of water was shaking as the T-Rex came closer and closer. No one was sure if they should breathe, getting it caught in their throat before—

 

You can Ricky’s presence before he even is in the room, an intimidating radiation comes and everyone is close to screaming because of it. His entrance would have been more dramatic if there was a door in the living room to swing the door open. 

 

“Who did it?” He asked, close to booming but he seemed to be controlling himself in the sake of being a polite host. 

 

No one spoke but everyone gulped. 

 

Then he asked again— “Who did… it?”

 

All of their eyes bounced around, trying to look not guilty, even if they didn’t do it; but they did know who did. And it was an accident, all of them could swear it on their mothers, he didn’t mean to or have any wicked implications to do so. His long arms and  _ legs  _ were just… everywhere and what do you expect but for him to knock it over. No one wanted to eye him because they were loyal but terrified of the tiger slowly circling them, hunting the truth. 

 

“Ricky I--” but he didn’t even finish his confessional sentence when Night pushed him aside to take the spotlight from his murderous brother and taking the blame. 

 

“I did it.” Night says. And a gasp was threatening to spill, it seems like Night has a deathwish with the lie he just told his brother. Everyone watched both of the men’s faces, almost identical, harden. Eyes hardening with fire from Hell so hot that it will burn you to a crisp, Ricky’s hands by his side and it was a surprise that they weren’t balled up to a fist. Night, however, had his hands in the pocket of his trousers the same way when he was in the driveway when he first saw his brother. 

 

No one spoke. Or breathed. A tiger and a leopard staring each other, almost asking the other to throw the first punch-- and to make it a good one. If something else dropped then a war would start once again.

 

“Dick,” Ricky mutters. 

 

Night rolls his eyes as if this was just a normal everyday conversation and neither of them had the knowledge to kill the other. “Brat.” 

 

It was Ricky who was the first to look away, not exactly admitting defeat but being the bigger person (despite being the younger one). He looked down at the vase, it was an expensive one but it wasn’t one that he held close. It wasn’t that worthy of the space of this house. “Thank you, by the way, brother. I needed to get rid of this vase.” 

 

Tinsley was tall but managed to shrink down behind Ricky as every single person in the room’s eyes landed on him. He gulps.

 

***

 

She was pretty much aware that she wasn’t wanted in this house, she was a stranger in this house full of family that love and care for each other (in their own weird way as far as murderers and ghost hunters are concerned). So she just left the room the moment the music began to play. Freddy knew that there wasn’t a place in this house for her.  _ She was Francesca Norris’ sister _ for the love of God! She was the forgotten sister, the less pretty, the least witty one, the short one, the poorer one, she was everything her sister was not— in a bad way. Ever since her  birth, Freddy was under her shadow, never being the one to get the attention or the love from everyone.  _ No one likes her.  _

 

Freddy was exploring the house with the flute of champagne that she managed to snatch up from the maid’s plate. Wow, even when she’s a guest she’s forgotten. She walks around the long cold and empty halls, feeling everything around her being dirty but shiny with blood money. Cold auras radiat from all of the stuff in the house, stone cold like the ghosts of the very same people the man who owns this house has killed to manage all of these riches. And now she has to admit that she got lost, it was a big house that she never been in before. Yes, Franny’s house was bigger but since she’s been staying at her house she at least knows her way around it. Freddy was getting lost-- and this was barely the first floor!

 

A small light emanates from an open doored room down the hall. She follows it as she takes in a small sip from her drink, taking in the expensive taste of its sweetness unlike her sister who drinks and drinks the finest alcohol she’ll ever try. The room was large and wide, she could barely see the probably tasteful wallpaper under all of the pieces of expensive (and most likely stolen) paintings. There were other stuff too, statues and vases that seemed to just ooze luxury; but the paintings were the most breathtaking part of the room. Pieces and pieces of gorgeous art that were pinned up against the wall.  

 

Slowly, as if not to disturb the art, she strolls in to watch the paintings. Watching a looking as if she was window shopping but never intends to but it anyways. There were pieces that she recognized:  _ BL UE _ by Maximus Baribeau,  _ A Maids Summer Dream _ by Nina Pasqual, _ Bondage _ by Akachi Diallo. All of these painting worth millions and millions of dollars not just for their original price but also the money for their findings. And to think that Franny’s “best friend” has them in his house.

 

But one, no--  _ two  _ paintings stood out. Two that had strokes of paint, the volume in every shape, the shadow upon its’ pieces and subject in the frame were things from her memory. Things that she has seen done with her own two eyes. 

 

Inside of a golden frame was one of a woman, naked as miles and miles of brown skin shines under the artificial lights of a stage where millions and millions of faceless people of an audience watched her body in wonder and beauty. Freddy knows that woman; she knows those curls that were pulled up in a messy bun, she knows those curves of hips, she knows the body that she showed and struts on stage, she knows that body and the soul that is in that vessel-- she sees her every morning when she takes a shower. 

 

Her heart wrenches when she sees the painting, knowing the woman who had painted her into history, into people’s minds with just oil paints. The fact that Freddy has seen the very woman who had made her, but not exactly her, famous. That she knows the woman’s soul and mind and body as he tongue was explores every single cell. That she knows what the woman dreamed of and wanted and what she feared. That Freddy was by her side as her rise to stardom.

 

That Freddy loved that woman.

 

Tears have yet to seep into her eyes as they slowly travel to find the other. And sees the missing painting that she had mourned so much because of what it meant. That she cried and cried the same way she cried at the funeral. This wasn’t  _ Sun-Light  _ or  _ The Blind Man--  _ this was  _ Sympathy.  _ The painting that was probably as old as time but would also never fail to make history. 

 

This was the painting where the land touched the sky and the only place that the scenery was disturbed was the back of a naked woman, her back showing the people who see her and just see the lines on her back and knobs of her spine showing you the feelings of the story she was yet to say.  _ Freddy’s spine.  _

 

This was the their first. And no one forgets their first. 

 

Every single emotion that a person can feel floods all of the cells in her body making her ache and burn with— sadness, guilt, pity, anger, disgust and just pain. A pain that only she can feel because no one else has been in this situation. Having the knowledge that a painting worth millions upon millions of dollars was based off of you, was stolen and was resting in the home of her sister’s best friend but she can’t say anything without any evidence. And if someone has been there then… Freddy pities their souls. 

 

_ This isn’t fair,  _ she thinks. _ I can’t get her back and she’s gone. The one person that I cared for was pulled away from me.  _

 

Freddy feels a sob ready to spill through the thin line of her mouth and a single tear rolled down her face as the sound of someone’s footsteps coming close to the room and she wipes them away with her fingertips. 

 

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think anyone was here,” came a southern accent from the doorway Freddy came from. 

 

She twists her head after composing herself internally and saw one of the maids, a dark skinned black woman with her hair pulled back. Her uniform was surprisingly clean and crisp enough to be considered as a general of an army. Freddy smiles, the memory of her mother came from the maid’s face. “It’s fine,” she says and mimics her accent, it was similar to where she and Francesca grew at in. 

 

The maid nodded and bows her head before stepping into the art room, and Freddy stiffens because it almost feels wrong for both of them to be here. She watches as the other woman walks over and they just stand next to each other. Two people that held the secret of this home, of this house in a way. 

 

“Are you one of Mr. Goldsworth’s friend?” the maid asked while admiring the paintings. Freddy has a feeling that she does this all the time. 

 

The younger of the two shakes their head. “No. I’m Francesca’s sister.” 

 

Now it was the maid’s turn to twist her head up to look at her, their height difference shown by Freddy’s tall height and heels and the maid’s flats. “As in Ms. Norris?” And Freddy nods. “You’re her sister? I wasn’t aware she had a sister.”

 

“Well, now you do,” she says as she raised the flute to take a sip from the champagne she still has left. “Freddy Harknell.” 

 

They both went quiet as they stared at the art that seemed to be breathing themselves into life. And there was so much life in this room as well as the rest of this house. 

  
  



	8. Three Children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heartbreak hums in the air like God’s soft music.

“How the fuck do we lose a five foot five teenager in this house?” Josh asked, his new tennis shoes squeaks on the wooden floor with a satisfying sound that echoed in the empty hall. Some of the expensive things in the house swallowing the sound that he made. When Josh first came into Uncle Ricky’s house he would be lying if his first thought was to sneak some small expensive things into his pocket to pawn them for money. But then again, he’s not  _ that  _ type of person. 

 

“To be fair,” Sophia says as she walked by his side. “This is very a large house.” 

 

He nods in agreement. He was confused by all of this, Sophia has an idea but she isn’t going to be clear about it until all of the pieces that were needed are place. She’s her father’s daughter. Being by Banjo’s side had made Josh aware of people’s actions, the small ticks that their bodies make and the thoughts and feelings that swim in their eyes. He saw and recognized who they were-- a liar, a sinner, a good soul, a bad egg, the innocent. All of these are people that Josh has surrounded himself in when he stands by an art thief's side. And does he deserve it?

 

_ Yes,  _ the sinful house whispered. This house was a cathedral, gold with ancient symbols and riches with God sleeping the master bedroom and the Messenger of God sleeping in the other room down the hall. This house was a false church-- a dirty Vatican. The Sun was God; the Moon was Silver. Everything here means something. The paintings have eyes that watch, the gold glitter in morse code, and the marble whisper with the corner of every room. It’s full of secrets.

 

“My father wants to sell it,” she says. “I doubt he really wants to but he’s a man of his word.”

 

Josh looked down at her, seeing the top of her head and saw the bow on the top of her hair slightly ironic. When he met Sophia he thought that Ricky found her in a basket that someone set in front of his house with a big bow on top of it. But maybe that was his judgement against rich people. 

 

Josh scratches behind his ear. “Why does he want to sell this house?” he asked, really wondering why. 

 

She shrugs. “I suppose he wants a bigger house. Tinsley is trying to convince him to not do so though.”

 

The way she said  _ Tinsley  _ was so drastic to the other words in that sentence that it made Josh have whiplash. He stares at her for a second, choosing his words carefully. “... You don’t like Tinsley.” It was supposed to come out as a question but it comes out like an actual statement. 

 

Her face went through several emotions, trying  to control her face to keep it monotone. “I do like him. I just don’t think I can…” she presses a fist on her mouth, trying to understand her soul. 

 

But it seems like Josh beat her to it. “You want… closure?” he offers those words as a suggestion. She nods. “About your—“

 

“My mother,” she finishes for him what he started for her. “I have to know if she’s out there or not. I want to know her. To see her. I want to know why people think  _ I am her. _ ” Sophia looked at the shadow that passes over the painting of a woman smiling with emerald eyes and earrings. She was blonde and with a strong nose. The woman can’t be her mother, Sophia doesn’t have her supposing eyes. “I want to know why my father look at me like that.”

 

“Like what?”

 

She turns to look at Josh. “Like I’m the ghost of my mother.”

 

***

 

Everyone watched as two maids hurried to clean up the glass shards and running as calming as they could. Tinsley still somehow hiding behind Ricky, wide shoulders and short height tend to not work that well. 

 

Ricky closes the top of the record player rather harder than needed, looking dead at Nick while doing so. Everyone can see that he was imagining Nick’s hands under there, crushing every bone in his hand and snapping his fingers like a carrot.

 

Ryan gulps when Ricky’s eyes cross to look at everyone in the room, hard with the pressure to crack everyone. He sits down where Nick was sitting, “How are you enjoying the party?” 

 

He asks as if he wasn’t able to hurt you so deeply. Ryan had the courage to answer the question that was meant for all of the members of the family: “I don’t mean to bother you but don’t tell me that we’re going to eat dinner  at midnight?” 

 

Ricky nods, a sharp smile slices the air around him. “And then presents. Just like—“

 

“ _ Abuela, _ ” Ryan finishes for him. The warm memories of the heat from stoves and vapor. He remembers the sweat sweetly pouring down his back when he ran into the kitchen after playing all day in the sun and pour himself juice. 

 

Surprisingly, Ricky and Ryan never crossed paths as children. Only once as teenagers but that was the last time until he just up and left his mother. He remembers seeing his Aunt Lucy never smile after the first year. Then they met again when he saw each other at a cousin’s wedding. 

 

“May God rest her soul,” Nick mumbles quietly, barely above a whisper. He never says that.

 

Shane watched Legs sway back and forth, looking a bit sick and looking green. “You look like you need a drink,” Shane says. 

 

The older hiccups. “Damn right.”

 

The ghost hunter stands up. “No. I mean fucking water. Cmon, don’t throw up on the carpet.”

***

 

A sickly feeling claims her stomach, like the shadow outshining the light in a room. There was no home once the fire slowly eats away the match’s wood, closer and closer to the finger that hold it until they had to choice to drop it or let it burn you alive. She decided to let it go and have the dark consume her. 

 

It swallows her and she lets it as a cold sharp object was pressed in the palm of her hand and was instructed to keep it in her pocket until the time was right. The Devil had smiled at her sharply, disgusting pride filled her.  _ “Just like so many years ago, Mira,”  _ the Devil whispers before leaving the bathroom.  _ “Play Spy again. Be The Spy again.”  _ And that’s what she has to do tonight. Just tonight; and if she does it she’ll get arrested at the cost of someone’s life but that means she’ll be far from the Devil. Protected by the guards that will surround her cell. Just… one life. 

 

One more.

 

But God, how much is that life for?

 

Scout stared at the mirror and the switchblade in her hand. Her eyes had lost the spark that was there only a few hours ago, the light behind her eyes showed the emptiness that she’d sweat when she was a child and had only recently filled that void.

 

Taking a deep breath, pretending again, surviving again, living like this again-- she walks out of the bathroom with the switchblade in the pocket of her jacket. And almost screamed when someone called her name down the hall. “SCOUT!” 

 

Cold terror ran into her body, frozen in place, floor swallowing her feet. Not wanting to turn her head, she forced her eyes to strain and look from the corner of her eye as the hairs from the back of her neck stands up like a frightened cat from a cartoon. Sophia hurries down the hall, her small heels clicking softly with Josh’s tennis shoes squeaks on the nice wooden floor. 

 

“There you are,” Sophia sighs, a single strand escaped her nicely done hair but it went back to its place perfectly.  _ She’s always perfect. _ Scout doesn’t mean that of course but she needs to convince herself that it’s true…

 

Josh towers a bit over her hair a bit-- a saint behind an angel. She doesn’t deserve them. These two are holy and free while she’s not. “Where were you? We had to look all over this damned house and I swear some of the paintings were staring at me.” 

 

A smile twitched on her smile. He always managed to make her smile just a bit, even though he was a big idiot with even a bigger heart. “I had to  _ polish my nose…. _ ” she says dramatically, playing into the belief that she was okay. She’s okay.  _ I’m okay.  _

 

“Just say it and leave, sis,” Josh rolls his eyes. “But anyways, this girl has been keeping be with some motherfucking suspense.” 

 

Scout looks over at Sophia and her heart wrenches, her hand wrapping around the cold metal object in her pocket. “What are you scheming now?” she asks with a weak smile. To do what needs to be done is going to hurt, but it’s just one person.  _ One. _ One in compared than a massacre. 

 

She smiles, one where the sun would sizzle on its own in shame. “I need your particular… skills for this to work.”

  
  
  
  


_ Phase 1:  _ Pickpocket Ricky Goldsworth’s office key. Which is a suicide mission. Just ask him to blow your brains out or cut your throat open and it would be the same results as trying to steal from him. Scout remember that Sophia told her the story that Ricky woke her and Tinsley in the middle of the night to pull them into his room because someone had broke into the house. She said that she watched him take a gun from the nightstand before walking out the room with only his night robe, locking the door and going down the stairs. She said that Tinsley pushed her into the closet with a gun in his hand and locking the closet door. Sophia said after half an hour and six gunshots, Ricky came up the stairs with blood splattered on his robe; so yeah-- they’re trying to steal from  _ that man.  _

 

But they wanted Scout to go up to this man and  _ pickpocket him.  _ Scout might have a constant deathwish but not like this. She sighs as she walks into the kitchen, smiling and waving at the cooks and maids and sneaking up a teaspoon to replace the keys with. She was greeted by her cousins outside the kitchen. “I didn’t know you guys wanted me to die this much,” she says as she waved the teaspoon around in front of their faces. 

 

Josh snickers. “Hey, it was Sophia’s idea so don’t shoot the side piece here.”

 

“Yeah, you’re very fond of being the side piece, ain’t you?” Scout shoots before rolling her sleeves down, mentally preparing herself for this suicide mission. 

 

Josh was going to say something before Sophia says: “Cousin, please. You must understand what I’m feeling. Wouldn’t you do anything to meet your parents--”

 

“My dad’s dead to me anyways so I don’t give a shit,” Scout says a bit too mean and harsh for it to be dismissed as family bullying. Josh and Sophia stare at her, offended and scared of her outburst. She calms herself with a few shallow breaths, “I’m… sorry. I’m just on edge because of the whole… weed thing.” she spits out the excuse far too well and easily that it disgusts her. 

 

Sophia mumbles something that maybe was supposed to be an ‘it’s okay’ but almost sounded forced. 

 

“Cmon Scout,” Josh cuts the tension with his smile. “What’s the worse thing that can happen?” 

 

“Uh, death!” Scout says, pulling her eyes away from Sophia. Then Josh grabs her by the shoulders and pushes Scout by the living room. She turns around to poke her tongue out at him. 

 

Josh whisper-yells. “As if you care about dying,” and then she walks into the living room. 

 

She cuts to chase, sitting down by her target. Ricky was sitting with Tinsley right next to him. Scout was surprised that the ex-detective wasn’t sitting in his lap, she’s seen them be touchy. Well, Tinsley be more touchy to Ricky as a way to basically say  _ fuck you  _ to Banjo. Oh yeah, she knows about that. Everyone knows about it and it’s not a family secret. Scout crosses her legs on the arm of the couch where Ricky sat at. 

 

He didn’t even look up at her, engrossed by the conversation that he and Legs were having about something along the lines of money and alcohol. She leans back on her arm, pretending to listen to the conversation when in reality she was eyeing his pockets. How was she going to get those keys? 

 

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a champagne bottle popping open and some of it fuzzing out like a shaken soda can. Then an idea popped into her head like the cork of that very bottle. 

 

Scout waited as the waiter was walking around, offering them flutes of champagne to the family throughout the whole living room. When the waiter passes by them, Scout looks up at him and pretends to be considering if she wants to drink or not. 

 

“Champagne, Mr. Goldsworth?” The waiter offered him, his waist bend and head hung a bit to show respect to the man that basically owns him. Her stomach boils with the memories of her doing that with Francesca.

 

Ricky shook his head, hand on Tinsley’s knee. “Fix me up a bourbon, would you?” It was more of an order than a request and the waiter smiled at him, pain making his lips quiver   

 

He nodded, eyes down with his head at an angle. “Right away, Mr. Goldsworth, sir.” The waiter says before moving away to offer Scout a drink, the platter in his hand. “Anything for you, Miss?” Scout nods and smiled before taking a flute with a small  _ thank you,  _ then before the waiter left he pulls him to grab another flute. 

 

She took a long gulp and let it burn a bit, memories of her first drink of alcohol linger like the sting on her tongue. Wow, third grade was a wild year. 

 

“You know,” Francesca’s voice came from the doorway as she stands near the record player, clearly already missing the whole scene surrounding it. “I never drank at your age.” 

 

They both locked eyes, a mutual agreement— a reluctant mutual agreement — to be okay with each other. A rule. But Scout was never good at following rules. “Yeah, you can’t drink when you’re pregnant.” She heard Tinsley give a soft gasp, Ricky chuckle and felt Shane’s eyebrows shoot up while Ryan glaring at her cheek. 

 

Francesca was going to choke on her drink, another martini, and glares at her but doesn’t say anything. She swallows. “Hilarious,” she drones at her with sharpness in her eyes. 

 

Scout then pretends to choke on her own drink, the other drink in her hand slipping from her fingers and into Ricky’s lap. He made a sound as he stands up and looks at his own wet lap and jacket. Scout stands up with him, “Shit, Uncle, I’m sorry!” 

 

“Great I have to get changed,” he says as he unbuttons his blazer, Scout taking it and her hand slipping into the pocket, interchanging the teaspoon and keys, forcing them into the sleeve of her jacket. 

 

Tinsley scoops the jacket from her arms a few seconds after. “Come on, I’ll help you get changed, Ricky.”

 

The assassin snickers. “Damn right you will and some other stuff too.” 

 

“Ricky!” 

 

Scout sneaks out before Ryan or Shane could stand up to scold her, bumping into Josh by the stairs where they had that little weird meeting they had. Sophia was sitting down on the third step of the stairs, she stood up when she saw her. “Did you get them?” she asks, fixing her dress. 

 

She waved the keys before shoving them into her jean jacket before someone hears them. “Let’s go,” she saying before looking back at the living room walking up stairs past Sophia. “We have an office to break into.”

  
  
  
  
  


_ Phase 2:  _ Breaking into an office was never something that Josh planned to be doing this Christmas. But sometimes life just throws you a curveball that you have to work through. In other words:  _ it be like that sometimes.  _

 

They walked up the stairs and on the rug that was in the center of the hall, feeling expensive under his new shoes. He’s been honestly trying to not crease them, feeling like those kids in his school who take off their new shoes to do push ups. And as an ex-cheerleader, creasing your shoes come with the job. He was the third tallest so that means that he ran around catching girls who trust him and the other male cheerleaders with their lives— and bones. 

 

The carpet muted their steps and there were no maid or waiter or butler around on the second floor door during a party, which sounds like should be a must for a rich man like Ricky. His expensive stuff out and about is basically having an underhanded comment that says ‘ROB ME’. And here they are. Basically robbing him. 

 

Josh was able to feel the tension between them, Scout was always good at causing trouble. Maybe that’s why she was an easy person to blame for the weed. In all honesty, Josh doesn’t think she did it. This time. She probably has done it many times, smoking during lunch and she hasn’t gotten caught and then the one day she didn’t bring or didn’t even smoke, she got blamed. 

 

And does Josh feel sorry for her? Not that much. 

 

Ricky Goldsworth’s office was something obvious to spot, it basically has a large neon sign over it. Josh watches as Scout throws the keys passive aggressively at Sophia, who clumsily catches them before choosing the hold key that clearly matches the style of the double doors. The Victorian style key slowly was pushed into the matching golden keyhole before Sophia turns her wrist and a soft  _ click  _ was heard in the hall. 

 

The three of them looked around just in case someone was coming up the stairs. They waited, frozen in place. After a while: nothing. 

 

“You know,” Scout starts, seeming to have her short temper mood fade away slowly, “I never got why we couldn’t pick the lock.” 

 

Sophia puts her foot on the wooden floor beneath her, scared if there might be any bony traps like those movies that her cousin’s have told them about. She takes another cautionary step forward. “My father could tell if there were scratches on the keyhole.” 

 

“True,” Josh agrees with a chime as he slowly follows Sophia into the room. They could see the expensive items in the office glitter under the almost setting sun that bleeds through the clouds and falls into the window that was behind the desk. 

 

Scout stood away, standing as a watch out by the door but where she was standing she could see so many things that all of their prices combined might get her and Josh through college or even Med school. She watches as Sophia strolls into the room, looking around. “You’ve never been in your own dad’s office?” she asks. 

 

Sophia shook her head. “Occasionally. I stopped being here when I was around seven or eight.” Her fingers traces the spine of the books on the bookshelf, short nails slightly getting caught on some of them. She had no idea what There books held— maybe accounts or names of people he had killed to give her the best things in life. And to think that she walked around here as a child. Walking away she went to the desk and opened every drawer and there were only pens and some random pieces of papers but nothing important. 

 

From the door, Scout calls out: “Ricky isn’t dumb enough to do that.” 

 

Josh pokes his head from behind another bookshelf. “Yeah. He’ll pull some James Bond villain B.S.” 

 

The doll turns around, curious by what the reference meant and how it might help them with this. “Explain please,” Sophia asks politely. 

 

“Well,” Scout says before taking a step into the room and farther from the door. “If I was a man worth millions then I wouldn’t make the fact that I have a dirty secret so easy to find  _ but  _ still keep an eye on it.” She gestured to the portrait near Josh’s head. It was one similar to the family room but this was smaller and only had Ricky, a younger Sophia and a woman that is later explained is Ricky’s late mother. Sophia had stared at it for so long and never saw a part of her in herself and she wonders how she was. 

 

Josh hurried and lifts the portrait from the wall to reveal a safe that was hidden under it. Of course. He would do that and be so old fashioned. Ricky was always so old fashioned, with manners and raising Sophia and how he disciplined her. She remembers how after three years of ballet he made her stand in the corner because she spoke out of line during a meeting. He explained to her while she was crying that it was for her good. And she believed him. 

 

He puts the portrait down before standing up straight. “Well, now we have to figure out one of the millions possible codes.” Josh jumped when he saw that Sophia was next to him, he looked down at her, watching her face in hope that she might expose what she might be thinking. Sophia was always good at controlling herself, years of discipline would have made her the perfect soldier in a small frame like hers. 

 

“Not really,” Scout says, another step forward into the room, breaking the small barrier she had put up for herself. She turns to look at Sophia, her heart still churching and twisting but not as strong, she had swallowed the pain— she was good at taking a punch. “What’s your birthday, Sophia?” 

 

“February 22,” she says, understanding. 

 

“So it’s 0-2-22?” Josh asks as he put his fingertips on the turning nub on the safe. He watches Sophia nods before slowly turning it, terrified that if he messes up a raid of booby traps might fall on their heads like an Indiana Jones movie. His wrist began to ache, focusing his muscles so he won’t shake. 

 

No one was breathing, frozen and focused until there was a sad soft  _ click  _ that came from the safe the latch slowly creaked open. 

 

Another step forward from Scout. “I suppose your dad does love you,” she says as Sophia reaches in to feel ancient jewelry and a familiar black velvet box that she knows what’s inside. Her hand brushed past something that felt like a file. With her heart pulsing without her permission, she pulls it out slowly and carefully before looking at the yellow folder that has turned beige over years of dust and secrecy. 

 

Sophia opened it and feels both of her cousins look over her shoulder to read, Josh abandoning any sense of his possible kleptomaniac tendencies and Scout leaving her spot as the watch-out. 

 

With startled eyes they all read the paper: 

 

_ SUBJECT: Guadalupe Michelle Reynolds.  _

 

_ After years of keeping an eye on her due because of the orders assigned to me and my men, we have done everything we could do and everything said by Mr. Goldsworth.  _

 

_ THE TIMELINE:  _

 

 

  * __Guadalupe Reynolds and Mr. Ricky Goldsworth meet and are set up to marry one another due to the promise of a male heir. The marriage shall be a strange and foreign affair.__


  * _On February 22 on the year of 2004, Miss Sophia Goldsworth was born._


  * _On the year 2007 a divorce was set to happen with the promise of wealth to Miss Reynolds._


  * _There were many complications with the divorce._


  * _Miss Reynolds made a promise of speaking to the authorities about Mr. Goldsworth’s business and to take away young Miss Sophia._


  * _The threat was removed and placed into a secure area where the subject would be under high surveillance._


  * _On the month of February on the year of 2016, the subject died of complications and accidental overdose on her sleeping pills at 14:56._



 

 

With shaking hands and shoulders, Sophia lets the file split against the floor below her as she took in a shaky breath of acceptance of the situation. Her eyes were closed with her heart beating in her ears loudly but slowly. A sick feeling sit in her stomach, one that she has never felt before and hurts her stomach like a bullet through the chest. Is this what those people felt like right before her father stripped them from their life? Was her existence the reason her mother was gone? In this moment she couldn’t control herself, all of the discipline she had learn had faded. 

 

Tears rolled down her face but she didn’t even blink, they fell with the assistance from gravity. “She was alive…” she gasps quietly, holding her chest where her heart was going through a pain she has never felt before. “All this time she was… alive,” heat gathered in her stomach and chest, burning every cell in her body. “She was-- she was alive,” Sophia feels a hand on her shoulder, holding her if not she would definitely fall on the floor below her. 

 

Scout’s heart twisted as she watched her cousin cry and break, her one shiny eyes had a shine of tears that Scout has never seen her have. Then it hit her the moment she wrapped an arm around her shoulder to comfort her:  _ this is Sophia’s first heartbreak.  _

 

“Oh… Sophia, I’m so sorry,” Josh whispers, holding her. Now he understands why she was asking this, and to have the hope that she had made suddenly be crushed under the cruel reality. 

 

Their supporting moment was cut short when they heard people talking and laughing as they went up the stairs. Josh and Scout look at each other with wide, panicked eyes as they silently communicated with each other. They had to get out of here. 

 

In a quiet frenzy, Scout closed the door as Josh returns the file back into the safe and returning the portrait over it where it was. They heard Ricky’s voice and they silently cursed in unison before Josh grabbed Sophia and pulled her close as he whispered: “Where now?” his voice cracked with nervousness before they heard the doorknob slowly turn. 

 

Everything slowed down as Scout looked at the large coat closet that was behind the door and then at the window. She pulls her cousins by the arm to a certain direction as she opened the window-- it was a bit of a drop but with a panic they were fine. “Jump,” she whispered yells before she pushed them out the window and she followed them after she closed the window silently right as the door opened. 


End file.
